Where We Will (We'll Roam)
by Ninnani
Summary: Molly MacTully is the daughter of an indentured servant and an Irish sailor. She grew up on the streets of Port Royal helping her mother work off her years at the local Tavern, antagonizing the young Captain, and teasing the blacksmith's apprentice about his school boy crush. She met Elizabeth Swann when she was 11 and from then on her life was never the same. CotBP
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, it's been a while. And I know some of you may have expected some Mericcup stuff, but I've been wrung dry of anything that I should be writing and full of things that I shouldn't be writing. So instead of fighting it I'm just getting it all out.**

 **I've been watching the new series on Starz called Black Sails and it made me want to watch Pirates again so I marathon-ed it and this was the result. I really loved the Pirates universe and how diverse the cast was and every time I watch a movie I like to create characters to fit in the world. Little Molly MacTully is one of those characters.**

 **I'll be writing this very quickly and I don't know if I'll finish or if I'll just jump to another story. It might be sloppy (it will most definitely be sloppy) and honestly I'm plotting as a write, any constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated. The story takes place during Curse of the Black Pearl and any changes that my OC makes will be considered AU.**

 **A Quick Warning: There will be some very filthy pirate songs sung in this fic, because I also went on a Irish drinking song binge on iTunes, but since they're so few and far between I didn't feel like they warranted a 'M' rating. Just thought it fair to warn you that there is one in this chapter, but its sung very innocently in the spirit of children just learning to curse so hopefully no one will report me and wont take it down.**

 **Thank you for reading and if you liked what you read please review, even if it's just to say you liked it.**

 **A Blanket Disclaimer: I don't own anything except characters that you don't recognize. The songs sung in this fic (Serafina and Drunken Sailor) belong to their respective authors and the lyrics were intentionally botched by a young girl's memory. PotC and all respective characters places and things are property of Disney and if I owned Disney I wouldn't be writing this, I would be swimming in a pool of champagne with Nicki Minaj and Drake.**

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 **Where We Will (We'll Roam)**

* * *

"Papa!" A shrill voice cried out. Sailors and soldiers all looked up from their work as a blur of red hair raced up the dock. Little Molly MacTully ducked and weaved her way expertly through the mass of sailors working to tie the Dauntless to the docks. A short, red haired man looked up from the ropes he was tying off, his green eyes widening.

"Molly?"

The young girl grinned, running towards him and flinging her arms around his neck, "Papa, you're back!"

"Molly!" Her father cried, catching her in his arms, eyes still wide in surprise. He looked up warily at the officers that were still on the ship, "Y're no' supposed to be on the docks, Little Dolly."

Molly stepped back, looking worried, "But Papa? Aren't you happy to see me?"

"O'course I am, little Dolly," He said quickly, cupping her face in his hands and laughing breathlessly, eyes drinking in all the details of his daughter's freckled face as if he were trying to commit them to memory, "I am so 'appy to see you. Y're so big. It's just-"

"Mr. MacTully!" A voice from the ship cried. Molly looked up for the source, but all she could see was the hull and the towering sails of the Dauntless, the ship that had carried her father away months and months ago. She should resent the giant thing, but it was so beautiful that Molly couldn't bring herself to hate it. All she could do was wish that she sailed with her father across the ocean.

"I'm a little busy, love," Her father said quickly, turning to check the rope. He gave it a firm tug before standing up a hollering to the deck, "Aye, Cap'n." He looked at Molly, "Wait f'r me up a ways, Dolly, and we'll walk up to see y'r mum together, alright? I'll just be a mo'."

Molly grinned and saluted him, "Aye, sir!" She said before turning on her heels and running back up the dock. She climbed up onto a cluster of crates draped in netting, settling herself and arranging her skirt carefully around her, waiting patiently for her father.

She watched the soldiers stand in formation as a man with a long black wig and very fancy cloths left the ship, followed by a boy and girl around her age. The girl was very pretty, with dark hair and a pretty blue dress, embroidered with patterned flowers and frills, but the boy was shaggy haired and dirty and his cloths were worn and too big to fit his frame. The fabric hung off of his shoulders and the pants were baggy and fraying at the edges.

So this was the Governor and his daughter. Molly had heard her mother and Charlie discussing his arrival during dinner, but she hadn't realized that they would arrive on the same ship as her father. She had no idea who the boy was. Her mother hadn't mentioned that the Governor had a son.

Molly was content to watch as the Commodore greeted the Governor and escorted them from the docks. His daughter held herself very properly, and almost seemed to glide after him. The boy looked hesitant to follow, like he wasn't sure he was supposed to.

Molly caught his eye and smiled. The boy gave a shy smile in return and she grinned at him.

"Come on, Will." The governor's daughter called and the boy turned to her, "You are to come with us, right father?"

The Governor nodded, "Yes, come, my boy. We mustn't dawdle."

"Yes, sir," Will hurried after them without looking back.

They all disappeared into a black carriage, all their luggage following on the backs of sailors and servants. Once everything was loaded into the carriages they were gone, swallowed by the streets of Port Royal.

"'ello, Molly," Her father's voice made her start, and she grinned.

Fergus MacTully was a short, sturdy man, with a bright red beard and long dirty hair tight back with a leather thong. His pale skin was flushed red with sun burn. The skin across his nose and cheeks were peeling from months of working under the harsh sun and the skin around his forehead, eyes, and mouth were creased and wrinkled.

"Papa!" Molly said, jumping down from the crates and launching herself into his arms. He caught her easily, wrapping his arms around her tightly and burying his face into her hair.

"Oh," she whimpered, her throat growing tight and her voice muffled by the fabric of his jacket, "I missed you so much."

Fergus nodded into her hair, "I missed y' too, little Dolly." He pulled away and held her at arm's length, "Y' look so much like y'r mother."

Molly shook her head, "Mama says I look like you, Papa."

Fergus laughed, "Aye. A bit o' both o' us then," He said kissing her forehead. "Ne'er thought this ugly mug would look so fine on a little girl."

Molly laughed and hit him on the arm, "You're not ugly father."

"Clearly not, to 'ave made somethin' as pretty as you. Dolly," He said, "Let's go see y'r dear mother shall we? Somethin' tells me that she 'as no idea you ran down 'ere. Then y' can tell me 'bout all the trouble y've caused while I've been away."

Molly grinned, hugging him again and burying her face in his dirty shirt, completely unconcerned by the smell of sweat and the sea, "We missed you, Papa."

* * *

It wasn't very long before Molly saw the boy from the ship again. Her father had been home for two weeks when he started showing up in town and another week before she actually him.

His name was Will Turner and the governor had found him an apprenticeship with Mr. Brown, the blacksmith. He didn't speak much and Molly did most of the talking in the beginning, when Mr. Brown brought him around to the Prancing Pony, the tavern where she and her mother worked, but she got him to talk to her eventually.

She found out that he wasn't the Governor's son and that his mother had died in London, that he had been shipwrecked on his way to find his father. He told her about the Governor's daughter, Elizabeth, and how she found him in the water and took care of him the rest of the weeks at sea. Her mother said that he was fond of her, but Molly knew that Will was far more than fond of her. She found an endless amount of joy in teasing him about it. His resulting blush was very satisfying, but she couldn't blame him.

Molly remembered the pretty girl with the pretty dress for weeks after she first saw her and she constantly found herself searching for her in the streets of Port Royal or at night in the tavern. It hadn't occurred to her that the Governor might not even consider eating or drinking at the tavern, let along bring his daughter.

Molly didn't get to meet Elizabeth, until sometime after Will began his apprenticeship. Her mother sent her to pick up an order of new door handles from the Blacksmith for the tavern. Elizabeth was standing outside the smith with Will when Molly had walked up.

She was just as pretty as Molly remembered, with her hair done nice and her clean white dress with blue lace and frills. She was singing a pirate song.

"Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me," Elizabeth sang, "We pillage and plunder and rifle and loot, drink up me hearties, Yo-ho." She paused, looking at Will expectantly, "Now you sing the next part."

"Oh, um," Will blinked, shaking his head to clear it, "Um, We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot… um-"

"Drink up me hearties, Yo-ho!" Molly finished, walking up behind Will. She looked at Elizabeth, "'ow'd y' know tha' song?"

After spending so much time with her father after he returned, Molly's Irish brogue had thickened considerably to the growing frustration of her mother. And without her around to correct her constantly, Molly plowed on like she was back in Ireland, without a care of who understood her and who didn't.

When he mother wasn't around, the job of correcting Molly's speech fell to Will who elbowed her sharply. "' _How_ do you know that song'," He corrected. Molly blushed.

Elizabeth blinked, looking Molly up and down before shrugging, "I think one of the sailors sang it while we were traveling from England."

Molly nodded, "Do y' know anymore?"

Elizabeth nodded hesitantly. "Who are you?"

"Molly MacTully," Will answered for her, "her mother works at the Prancing Pony. Molly, this is Miss Swann."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and huffed in a very unladylike display of exasperation, "Will, please, I _told_ you. Call me Elizabeth! Being called 'Miss' makes me feel," She winced, searching for the right word, "old."

"Sorry." Will blushed and Molly smiled.

"'ow many more songs like tha' do y' know, Miss Eliz'beth?"

" _Elizabeth_ ," Will corrected, before his eyes widened and he blushed and corrected himself, " _Miss_ Elizabeth," and Molly rolled her eyes.

" _Miss Elizabeth_ ," She amended, in an exaggerated British accent and making a face at him. He pinched her elbow and she winced.

Elizabeth's nose wrinkled, "That's even worse. Just Elizabeth is fine."

Molly smirked wickedly, "Can I call y' Bessie? Tha's 'bout as yo'ng as y' can get called."

"Molly!" Will looked at her, scandalized and not even knowing where to begin to correct her.

Elizabeth started at her for a moment, before smiling happily and nodding.

Molly nodded, "So, Bessie," she said, and Will made a chocking noise, "'ow many drinkin' songs d'you know?"

"A few."

"D'you know the Drunken' Sailor?" Molly asked, singing a few line, "What d'you with a drunken' sailor, what d'you do with a drunken' sailor, what d'you do with a drunken' sailor, early in the morning?"

To Molly's shock, Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"Everyone knows that one," she sniffed, placing hands on her hips. Will snorted.

The smile slipped off of Molly's face and she frowned, thinking hard. She desperately wanted to impress this girl with the pretty face and the prettier dresses, but her father had taught her a few better known songs. But, she _had_ heard Charlie and Mr. Brown singing one particular song in the pub when she was supposed to be sleeping.

Molly grinned, "I bet y' three pence you 'aven't heard this one."

Elizabeth smirked, "Alright."

Molly shook her head and shoved her hand in Elizabeth's face. The girl flinched back and Molly's grin widened, "You 'ave to shake on it."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at her, "Alright, but if I know it you have to give _me_ three pence."

"That's not fair, you pro'ly 'ave loads of them," Molly whined. Elizabeth frowned in question.

"You don't?"

Molly shook her head. Elizabeth looked at Will, "But you do, don't you? Now that you work in the smithy?"

Will shook his head, ducking to hide the blush coloring his cheeks, "I'm just an apprentice. I don't make any money."

"Oh," Elizabeth said quietly and toyed with a loose thread on the sleeve of her dress.

"Exactly, so I don't 'ave three pence to give you." Molly said. Elizabeth glared at her.

"Then why are you betting money you don't have?"

Molly raised an eyebrow at her, "To _make_ money o'course. That's 'ow Charlie does it. He's always bettin' money he 'asn't got."

Elizabeth blinked, "Does it work?

"Well, no," Molly shrugged, "but sometimes it does. 'E won a map once from a sailor, but me mum said it was a fake."

"Fair is still fair though," Will said, crossing his arms, "If Miss Swann has to give you three pence then you have to give her something if she knows the song."

Molly sighed, "Oh, alright, fine. 'ow about my scarf?" She tugged on the blue cloth tied around her neck.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose, "That's not even worth a pence."

Molly huffed, "Well, what about," she reached into the leather pouch at her hip and pulled out a white comb. She hesitated, rolling the comb in her hands before holding it out for Elizabeth to see. "What about this?"

It was a tiny little thing and it weighed heavy in her palm. Her father had brought it back from one of his adventures, but it was probably worth more than three pence and the only thing she had that was, "Papa said it brings good luck."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, "It's beautiful," she breathed, running a delicate finger along one of the teeth. "Where did he get it?"

"He said he bought it from a monkey in India." Molly flushed with pride at having something that a girl as pretty as Elizabeth would call beautiful. She put the comb back in her bag, reveling in the look of disappointment in the girl's eyes as she did. "Well? Do we 'ave a deal, Bessie?"

Elizabeth smiled at her and shook her hand, "Deal."

Molly grinned and hummed the tune before starting to sing, "In Callo there lives a whore whose name is Serafina."

Elizabeth's jaw dropped.

"She's queen of all the whores who work at the old Calle marina!" Elizabeth gasped, Will laughed and Molly kept singing. "She used to screw for monkey nuts, now she fucks for vino."

"Keep your voice down!" Elizabeth hissed.

"Do you know it?" Molly grinned.

"Shh!"

Molly's grin widened and she sang louder, "Serafina! Serafina!"

"Molly!"

"Serafina's got no drawers, I've been ashore and seen her." Molly pulled up Elizabeth's skirt playfully. The girl squeaked indignantly, pushing them back down and swiping at her, but Molly laughed and danced out of reach. "She's got no time to put 'em on, that hard fucked Serafina!"

Elizabeth gasped, "Be quiet," and lunged at her, arms outstretched. Molly ducked and turned on her heel, sprinting down the street, still singing.

"She guzzles pisco, beer and gin-"

"Elizabeth!" Will called. Molly looked over her shoulder and laughed. Elizabeth was chasing her.

"-on rum her mum did wean her!"

She led them through town and down to the docks, ducking and dodging around the sailors and singing loudly over their shouts of warning and Elizabeth's laughter, "Serafina! Serafina!"

She felt something brush her back and risked a glance on her shoulder to see Elizabeth right behind her. Molly shrieked and scrambled up onto a barrel.

"She'll claw and bite and kick and scratch when in the old arena!" She sang. Elizabeth skidded to a stop, nearly tripping over her skirts.

"Serafina!" Elizabeth sang, "Oh, Serafina!"

Molly laughed and jumped over her, landing lightly on the dock and running back the way they came and around towards the fort.

"She'll rob you blind if she gets the chance, that bloody she-hyena!" Molly sang and Elizabeth cackled. She looked over her shoulder to grin at the red face girl behind her and nearly ran straight into a blue coat and a line of gold buttons.

Molly gasped and careened to a stop. Elizabeth ran into her back with another gasp and the two of them stumbled forward.

"Captain Norrington!" Elizabeth squeaked.

The Captain looked down at them, surprised, "Miss Swann?" Then his voice turned stern as he looked down at Molly and sighed, "Miss MacTully, why am I not surprised to see you here?"

Molly blushed, ducking her head, "I'm sorry, Captain." She panted, all traces of her Irish drawl disappeared. She glanced back at Elizabeth, "Bes-Miss Swann and I were just playing a game. That's all."

"The docks are no place for games, Miss MacTully as I've told you this many times. Your father-"

"No!" Molly looked up at him, eyes wide, "Please don't take my father's job, Captain! I won't play here anymore, I promise!"

"Captain, please," Elizabeth interjected, drawing herself up to her full height and gliding gracefully around Molly and placing herself in between the Irish girl and the naval officer, "It is not Miss MacTully's fault. I started it. We were chatting with Mister Turner waiting for my father and I started chasing her. It was a terribly foolish thing to do. Do what you will with me, but please do not punish Molly."

Molly stared at her, green eyes wide with awe. She was defending her, and probably saving her father's job as a sailor to boot. Captain Norrington smiled fondly at her.

"Ever the soul of graciousness, Miss Swann," he said. "Very well, as you wish."

He looked at Molly and she straightened up under his gaze, her face burning, "Miss MacTully go back to your mother, I'm sure she'll be needed your help soon, and see to it that you stay away from the docks from here on out."

Molly nodded, "Yes, Captain. Thank you, Captain! I promise I won't- or will! I mean-"

"Miss MacTully." The Captain drawled impatiently. Molly blushed.

"Yes, sir." She said, spinning on her heel and sprinting back up the docs. Once she reached the stairs she looked back over her shoulder. The Captain was leading Elizabeth up to the barracks. She looked over her shoulder and smiled, waving delicately before turning back to speak to the Captain. Molly grinned and ran up the stairs, and back into the town.

It wasn't until she was back in her mother's tavern that night, having had to go back to the blacksmith to pick up the handles that she had forgotten, thinking about the day's events that she realized that Elizabeth had never paid her the three pence.

Molly smiled at the dirty dishes, well that just gave her an excuse to seek her new friend out. Of course, the next week, it was Elizabeth who sought her out. She invited Molly to the Governor's mansion for tea and to make conversation; as well as slip her the three pence she was owed at the bottom of her tea cup.

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 **Reviews are better than toothpaste and tire irons.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: And here we have chapter two. Where I struggle with how much of Molly's accent I wanted to keep from her childhood and whether I wanted to keep writing the accents at all. Irish accents are much harder to write. My roomates's getting sick of me because I keep talking in (what I think is) an Irish accent to get the dialogue right.  
**

 **Hopefully I've done it justice... I've found a way that I think shows more of Molly's hardheadedness than an actual accent. Shes' very proud, as you'll find out, and she actively strives to keep her accent despite her British mother's attempts to correct her when she was younger. This chapter kicks off where CotBP did and the rest of the story will follow that plot.**

 **Like I said I'm plotting as I go, so Molly's part in certain scenes is still being determined.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm a poor college student renting out the rooms of my mom's old house to make a living be cause I blatantly refuse to get a job. Enjoy.**

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 **Where We Will (We'll Roam)**

 **8 years later**

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Molly sprinted around the back of the mansion, fumbling with the ties on her bonnet and cursing the time over and over. The sun had barely risen and already she was disastrously late. She ducked through the servant's entrance of Governor Swann's mansion leading to the kitchens and ducked behind the pantry door. Miss Sarah, the housekeeper, was in the middle of addressing the maids in the kitchens.

Thinking that she was sufficiently distracted, Molly crept her way around the back of the kitchen and slipped into the line of girls without being noticed. Miss Sarah was going on about what an important day today was and how they needed to be at their best so that Miss Swann could be at hers at the Captain Norrington's promotion ceremony. The girls had all giggled at the news that their esteemed Captain was now to be called Commodore. Molly fought down the smirk that threatened to climb up her face and had barely managed not to roll her eyes at the thought of the young Captain she had tormented as a girl positively preening with pride at the new title and donning a new uniform.

"Molly MacTully," Miss Sarah barked, making Molly jump and bump into Victoria. The portly housekeeper shoved the rest of the girls aside and marched towards her, snatching the bonnet off of her head, "how many times do I have to show you how to tie this bonnet before you get it right." She shook out the dirt from the white fabric and pulling it roughly over her head, tying it around the back of her neck.

Molly bowed her head and let the woman tie the bonnet right, "Sorry, ma'am."

Victoria sent her an admonishing look, and Molly rolled her eyes.

"That's the third time this week," Miss Sarah huffed, placing her hands on her wide hips, "If you weren't in the Missus' good graces I'd have had you down here in the kitchens and out of sight where you can't offend anyone with your incompetence."

"Yes, ma'am." Miss Sarah sighed, but something moved behind Molly and made her stand at attention.

"Governor Swann," She gasped delicately, flashing him a smile, all traces of her anger gone. Her beefy hands hovered between her dress and her hair as if she wasn't sure what she wanted to fix first. "Good morning!"

"Good Morning, Miss Sarah." The Governor nodded towards her and Molly swore the woman nearly feinted. Molly smirked at Victoria, who struggled to contain her own smile and shook her head before looking away. "Do you have my daughter's new dress? I should very much like to see her face when she sees it."

Miss Sarah nodded, demurely, "Yes, Governor. It's right here. Little Toby brought it up yesterday," She gestured towards a large olive green box on the counter that Molly hadn't seen when she had snuck in earlier. "Victoria, Molly," Miss Sarah simpered, "take the dress up to Miss Swann. Hurry now. We don't want her to be late."

"Yes, ma'am," they chirped together. Molly moved to pick up the box, but Miss Sarah put a firm hand on her shoulder and held her back.

"Victoria, if you please." She said sternly, giving Molly a pointed look. Victoria nodded and took the box. Miss Sarah took her hand from Molly's shoulder and gave her a little shove in the direction of the door and she followed Victoria and Governor Swann out of the kitchens.

"I do hope she wears it to the ceremony," The Governor said, a faint smile on his lips. He looked at them both and smiled widely, "It's the latest fashion in London you know," he said proudly. Victoria nodded politely.

"It is a very handsome dress, Sir." She said in her small, mousy voice. "You have very fine taste."

Governor Swann nodded, "Yes, I rather think I do don't I?" He said, his dreamy smile still in place as he led them up the stairs to Elizabeth's bedroom.

No matter how many days she spent scrubbing its banisters or sweeping its floors, Molly would never be used to the grandeur of the Governor's mansion. Every morning she would wake up in the small dingy attic room she shared with her mother in the Prancing Pony tavern and make her way to the Governor's house where everything was white and bright. The large windows and spacious rooms all designed to filter the Caribbean sun into every nook and cranny.

Governor Swann knocked on the door at the end of the hall, "Elizabeth." When there was no answer he knocked again, "Elizabeth, are you awake?"

There was a thump from somewhere in the room.

"Are you alright?" The Governor asked through the door, knocking again. "Are you decent?"

"Yes," Elizabeth answered, sounding hurried, "Yes."

The Governor opened the door and Molly and Victoria filtered past him, "Still in bed at this hour?"

Elizabeth ducked her head in a show of chagrin, sending Molly a smile as she crossed the room to pull back the curtains and open the doors. The smell of salt and the sea filled the air, and sunlight flooded the room. Molly looked over the bay, taking a deep breath of the ocean air and letting the sun warm her skin for a moment before stepping back and hovering on the edge of the room. Elizabeth winced and blinked in the sudden light of the day. Molly smirked.

"It's a beautiful day," the Governor said, biting his lip against the smile as he fought to contain his excitement at gifting his daughter with her new dress. The smile broke free. "I have a gift for you."

Elizabeth perked up at that and the Governor lifted the lid revealing the dress. Elizabeth gasped and stepped forward

"Oh, it's beautiful," she breathed, lifting the dress from the box and holding it up to the light. She narrowed her eyes playfully at her father, "May I inquire as to the occasion?"

The Governor laughed, "Does a father need an occasion to dote on his daughter?"

Elizabeth flashed him a brilliant smile and ducked behind the divider. Governor Swann nodded to Victoria and Molly and they followed her. She brushed off Victoria's hands when the girl tried to help her out of her shift, and began to undress herself.

"What is the occasion, Molly?" Elizabeth muttered, as she slipped out of her bed cloths and changed into fresh small clothes.

"Commodore Norrington's promotion," Molly whispered, adopting a pompous British accent in imitation of the Governor.

"I knew it."

The two girls giggled quietly and Victoria looked away bashfully, pulling out Elizabeth's corset and holding it out.

"I had hoped you might wear it to Captain Norrington's promotion ceremony today." Her father ventured, "Commodore Norrington, as he's about to become."

Elizabeth and Molly shared a knowing smirk and slipped the corset over her head and began tying the laces.

"A fine gentlemen wouldn't you say?"

Molly tightened the laces at the front of the corset but she hesitated, eyeing the gold chain around Elizabeth's slender neck. She pulled out the medallion from the front of Elizabeth's small cloths and held it up with two fingers. It was a terrifying thing, a skull carved in the center of a ring of angry symbols. The metal was cool to the touch and simply looking at it filled Molly with a sense of dread and made her blood run cold.

Her eyes widened at the sight of it and she gave Elizabeth a questioning look. Elizabeth paled, but she managed to school her expression into one of measured indifference and shrugged, as if to say it was nothing. Molly narrowed her eyes at her, knowing full well that it was far from nothing, but slipped it back into the front of Elizabeth's gown without a word, going back to tying the laces of the corset.

The feeling of dread vanished the instant she let go of the coin, but it left a nasty taste in her mouth.

"He fancies you, you know." Her father continued from behind the divider, but the girls weren't listening. Elizabeth gasped as Victoria pulled hard on the strings at the back of the corset.

"Elizabeth," came the Governor's voice from behind the divider. "How is it coming?"

"Um," Elizabeth gasped, "It's difficult to say."

"I'm told it's the latest fashion in London," he said, proudly.

"Well, wom-en in London must have learned n-ot to bre-ath," She puffed, struggling not to stumble under the force of their pulling

"Stop movin'," Molly whispered, grimacing as she pulled hard, the laces digging into her fingers painfully, as she adjusted the strings at the front.

"Stop pulling so hard!" Elizabeth wheezed, pulling at the edge of the corset in an attempt to loosen it.

"Beg your pardon miss," Victoria simpered, sharing a sympathetic glance with Molly over Elizabeth's shoulder.

"It's the latest fashion 'n London," Molly whispered, tying off the laces and shaking off the pain in her fingers.

Elizabeth glared at her, "That's n-ot fu-unny," she huffed. Molly bit her lip to hide her smile.

Victoria pulled up the dress and held it out for Elizabeth. "In you go," Molly muttered, helping Elizabeth slip her arms into the sleeves and pulling the dress over her shoulders and lacing it shut.

"Now, let's see to y'r hair, Miss Swann," Molly muttered once she was dressed, giving Elizabeth a little shove towards the vanity and helping her sit on the chair. The Governor had left the room and Victoria closed the door after him. Elizabeth sat straight up in her chair and was unusually quiet, opening and closing her mouth like a fish as she concentrated on breathing.

Molly pulled the pins out of her hair and giving her an apologetic look as she grabbed the comb from the vanity and carefully untangled Elizabeth's golden tresses.

Elizabeth's attempted smile looked more like a grimace and Molly winced, turning her attention to Elizabeth's hair. She styled it neatly, piling it up in an elaborate knot at the top of her head, as was the latest fashion in London- according to Miss Sarah. Elizabeth's hair was one of the few things the housekeeper trusted her with. Of course, it helped that Elizabeth wouldn't let anyone else near it when she was a girl, insisting on Molly being the one to do it.

No one took care Elizabeth's hair with as much care as Molly did. She knew just how many pins she needed to keep the top knot from wilting, and just how much oil she needed to shape the curls and get them to shine. After seven years Molly could tame Elizabeth's hair better than she could her own.

There were always one or two strands that refused to cooperate, not matter how many pins, oils, or powders she used. They drove Miss Sarah mad, but when she wasn't being strapped into corsets and having the life choked out of her, Elizabeth was a force of nature. Taming any part of her almost seemed like a crime to Molly.

"You look beautiful, Miss." Victoria smiled sweetly, stepping forward with the lace bonnet.

Elizabeth tried to smile at her but she was still floundering for breath. She had started taking quick, shallow breaths instead of struggling for gulps of air but she still didn't seem to be getting enough.

"Here," Molly said, crossing the room and opening the first drawer of the dresser. She pulled out a cream colored fan and opened it, walking back over to Elizabeth and fanning her, "Does 'is help?"

Elizabeth nodded, closing her eyes and letting the air wash over her face. Victoria tied the bonnet at the nape of her neck and stepped back.

She really did look beautiful, like one of the princesses in her mother's fables.

"Well," Molly teased, "at least y' don't look terrible." Victoria's eyes widened.

Elizabeth laughed breathlessly and shook her head. Molly handed her the fan and Elizabeth snatched it, fanning herself forcefully.

"This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever worn, I thi-ink," She gasped. Molly laughed.

"Best t'not keep y'r father waitin', Miss Swann," She nodded towards the door, "The sooner this ceremony's over the sooner I can help get y' out o' the bloody thing."

Victoria's eyes widened, "Molly!"

Elizabeth chuckled breathlessly, "It's quite alright," she shook her head at Victoria, "She's right. Wish me luck, Ladies." She said with a parting smile, standing up straight, throwing her shoulders back and gliding out of the room, still fanning herself vigorously.

Molly smiled and began to tidy up. She organized the vanity, putting the combs and pins that she didn't use into their places.

"You shouldn't talk to the Lady like that, Molly," Victoria murmured as she made the bed, pulling at the covers, "it's not right."

Molly paused, her hand hovering over Elizabeth's night gown.

"Would y' have me lick their boots, like y' do?" Molly snapped, yanking the night gown from the divider and throwing them over her arm, " _You look beautiful Miss_ ," she sneered, in an exaggerated imitation of Victoria's simpering voice, " _You have such fine taste, sir_."

Victoria refused to look at her, pretending to be completely focused on making the bed, but Molly could see her blush from across the room.

"It's still not right," Victoria sniffed, smoothing the creases on the bed spread.

Molly rolled her eyes before sweeping out of the room. It wasn't the first time someone had admonished her for being less than proper with Elizabeth. Molly had worked in the Governor's house hold since she was thirteen, but she had been friends with Elizabeth long before that. She didn't need Victoria, or Miss Sarah, or anyone else to remind her that they weren't equals. Not when the evidence of it was everywhere she looked.

She stalked through the house and down through the kitchen and out onto the back lawn of the mansion where Prudence was overlooking the washing. There were several women with her, all older than Molly, hunched over the wash tubs and scrubbing the Governor's cloths clean in the sun.

The old woman grinned, her weathered face wrinkling at the corners of her eyes, when Molly walked up to her, "Ah, Molly. Just the person I wanted to see."

Molly groaned, "Oh, what do y' want old woman?"

Prudence laughed, wisps of gray hair escaping the red scarf wrapped around her head, "And what makes you think I want anything?"

Molly sighed, "Because, somehow, e'ry time you say those words it always ends with more work f'r me and nothin' to show f'r it."

The woman snorted, "'S not my fault you keep doing me the favors, lass." She took Elizabeth's cloths from her hands and shoved a basket full of freshly washed sheets into her arms, "Be a dear and give us a hand will you? We need someone tall to hang the linens up on the line."

"Oh, alright," Molly huffed.

Prudence beamed at her, pulling out a handful of clothes pins from the pocket of her apron and dropping them into the basket. "There's a good girl," She said, "Old Toby strung up the lines over there," she nodded towards a cluster of palm trees along the side of the house.

Molly nodded, hitching the basket up to her hip, and made her way towards the clothing lines. She started at the end of the line closets to the house and worked her way down. She was a rather tall girl and hanging the linens was no problem for her. She worked quickly, humming softly herself and she was half way through a jaunty little Irish tune when a voice interrupted her.

"Good day, Miss MacTully."

Molly looked around in surprise. Will Turner smiled pleasantly at her beside the linen basket, hair tied back carefully and his good waist coat buttoned up neatly. His brown eyes sparkled and she raised an eyebrow at him, pursing her lips and staring at him until he blushed and ducked his head.

"Hello, Molly." He muttered. She smirked.

"Will Turner, y' naughty little dangler. What are y' doin' slinking 'round the Governor's property? Elizabeth isn't here. She just left."

"I know, I just saw her," Will smiled, dreamily. "She looked as beautiful as ever, Molly. Like a vision."

Molly grinned wickedly, "Like a vision y' say?" He blushed, looking down at his shoes. "No, please do continue, _Mr._ Turner. Did it take y' long to come up with that comparison? Do y' often walk 'round waxing poetic 'bout girls? Or is it just Governor's daughters?"

"Please, don't," he begged, but Molly had already started.

"Oh, Elizabeth," She mocked, placing a hand on her heart. Will sighed, "Y'r skin is as pale as bleached whale bone, an' y'r hair is the color of straw in a horse's pen."

"Please stop," He looked up at the sky as if praying to God for patience.

"My dear, Elizabeth, I'd swear f'r you, I'd tear f'r you," Molly lamented, the grin on her face widened, "the Lord knows what I'd bear for you!-,"

"Molly-,"

"-Lovely Elizabeth, I'd steal f'r you; I'd cry myself to sleep for y', such is the love I feel f'r you! But damn me if I speak more than two words to y'."

Will raised an eyebrow at her, crossing his arms, his expression torn between annoyance and embarrassment. Molly dissolved into giggles.

"Are you finished mocking me?" He asked. Molly shook her head, smiling fondly at him.

"Probably not," She giggled, "Oh, Will. We're a pair of hopeless romantics, we are."

He snorted, "I'm sure."

Molly sighed, bending down to pull another sheet from the basket and hanging it on the line. Will plucked a cloths pin from the basket and handed it to her.

"So, what are you doing here?" Molly asked, taking the cloths pin from him, "Shouldn't you be working?"

"I was making a delivery."

"I didn't hear anythin' 'bout a deliv'ry," Molly said, hanging up another sheet. He handed her another pin and she took it.

"The Governor is presenting the Captain with a new sword at the ceremony, as a badge of his new office," Will said, and he grinned, "He placed an order for the sword to Mr. Brown a month ago."

Molly's eyes widened, "Did he like it?"

Will nodded, "He asked me to pass his compliments on to my master."

"Will, that's wonderful!" Molly exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him into a hug. He laughed, returning it just as enthusiastically.

"I know, it's amazing," he said before stepping away, "I must get back though, I let Mr. Brown a bit," He mimed taking a drink from a bottle and Molly nodded, "I just wanted to tell you."

Molly grinned at him, "Alright, I'll see you later then and you can tell me all about it."

He nodded and walked off, ducking under the clean sheets. She watched him leave for a moment, before turning back to the linen basket and putting the last sheet on the line before turning back to Prudence and the rest of the washing women.

"Was tha' the Turner boy?" Prudence asked as she shook out one of the Governor's under shirts.

Molly nodded, placing the empty basket down at her feet, "He was droppin' off the Commodore's new sword an' came t'say hello."

"Did he now?" The old woman smirked at her suggestively. "He's a rather handsome boy, easy on the eyes, wouldn't you say, Molly?"

Molly's eyes widened, "Oh no, don't y' start getting' any ideas, Prudence. Will is just a friend and y've got no business sticking y'r nose in mine."

Prudence's eyebrows disappeared into the seam of her bandanna, "So, he's ' _Will_ ' is he now?"

Molly rolled her eyes, "Just mind y'r own you old hag." She snapped, spinning on her heel and stalking towards the house.

Prudence's cackling laughter followed her all the way into the kitchens.

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 **Reviews are better than hand sanitizer and photo albums.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Avast! We've traveled off the edge of the map matey, here there be Mary Sues!**

 **We've ventured dangerously close into Mary Sue territory here, with the decision of whether or not to drag Molly onto the Black Pearl with Elizabeth being settled, but I hope you've fostered a little bit of faith in me so far. This isn't my first rodeo. You're in good hands for this fic I promise. I'm having a blast writing it and I hope you're enjoying reading it.**

 **As far as a love interest for Molly when I started writing this I really only had that scene in the beginning where Molly sings the dirty prostitute song to Elizabeth and I didn't set out with one in mind. It's honestly completely up to Molly, as weird as that sounds. One has started to form already, but it's probably not one you'd expect. (like I said, hang in there, you're in good hands I promise).**

 **Quick Note: Paddy is a derogatory Irish slur used mainly in Britain. The connotation is similar to the 'n' word and I was hesitant to use it. If it offends you please let me know and I'll change it.  
**

 **Now, with that out of the way, onto the story. I don't own anything and the sky is blue.**

* * *

 **Where We Will (We'll Roam)**

 **~She's got something of theirs~**

* * *

Molly sat in the dining room polishing the silver with Victoria and two other girls. Victoria still hadn't forgiven her for that morning, and she was pointedly ignoring her in favor of Mary and Josephine. Molly had yet to ask for forgiveness and the more she tittered on with the two girls the less inclined she felt to ask.

At one point, little Toby wandered into the dining room in search of lunch and had a chat with Molly about the horses. He was a handsome, Welsh stable boy of 27 years who was forever moaning and groaning about being called Little Toby, but, as Molly reminded him, Old Toby was the name of the cook and he was 40 years old, making him the oldest Toby in the house.

This made Little Toby roll his eyes and continue on to the kitchens to ask for a spot of lunch from Old Toby.

Molly continued in silence as Victoria and the girls continued to punish her for being rude when a commotion in the hall made them look up. Miss Sarah burst into the dining room flushed and frantic. For a moment, Molly thought she was after Little Toby for tracking mud into the house, but the woman's gaze zeroed in on Molly and Victoria.

"Miss Saint Clair, draw a bath for Miss Swann immediately." She snapped, and Victoria jumped out of her seat, nearly dropping the candlestick she was polishing in her haste to follow Miss Sarah's orders. "Miss MacTully find her a clean night gown and help her into it, Miss Henley fetch her dinner. The Lady will be retiring early this evening. Miss Follett, clean up this mess."

The three of them burst into action. Molly and Josephine exited the room quickly and Mary stayed behind to put away the silver and weather Miss Sarah's agitation. Molly darted up the stairs and entered Elizabeth's bedroom.

The girl is question was perched in her chair, shoulders back and head held high, wearing nothing but her under cloths and her father's coat around her shoulders and dripping sea water onto the floor.

She looked up as Molly entered and sent her a shivering smile, "I managed to rid myself of that corset sooner than I thought."

Molly snorted, closing the door and crossing the room to the dresser, pulling out a fresh bath robe.

"Well, I see y're in one piece." She said, helping Elizabeth out of her chair and her damp cloths, "And y'r little swim did nothin' to dampen y'r humor. T'hear Miss Sarah go on y'd think you'd been shot."

"No," Elizabeth said, as a matter-of-factly as the fabric slid off her shoulders, "I was threatened by a pirate."

Molly blinked. The wet fabric of Elizabeth's shift slipped through Molly's clumsy fingers, pooling onto the floor around her ankles. Elizabeth turned around, looking at her friend in confusion. Goosebumps had risen along her bare arms at the sudden chill that came without her wet under cloths.

"Y' were what by a what?" Molly stared at her friend incredulously.

"I was threatened by a pirate," Elizabeth repeated with exaggerated slowness. Molly made a face, tossing the robe at her head. Elizabeth laughed, catching it and clutching the fabric to her bare chest. "A Captain Jack Sparrow saved my life after I fell into the bay and threatened me in order to escape."

Molly blinked again. "Y'r not jokin'."

There was a knock at the door and Victoria's voice filtered through the wood.

"A bath ready for you, Miss."

Molly turned back to Elizabeth, "Tell me everything."

* * *

By the time Molly had put her to bed, the entire house hold had heard of Elizabeth's encounter with a pirate as well as the Commodore's ill-timed proposal. Some said that he had held his knife to her throat while the Commodore professed his love and begged for her life. Other's said that it was the pirate who pushed her off the edge of the fort in the first place and that it was the Commodore's quick thinking that had saved her.

The news of said pirate's capture and imprisonment soon reached the Governor's house and all the stories. Miss Sarah had taken it upon herself to curse his very name as she personally saw to Elizabeth's every need.

"Mark my words," Molly heard her muttering, as Elizabeth, claiming a headache and desperate need of rest, had shooed her from her room, "I'll be first in line when it comes his turn at the gallows."

Molly closed the curtains over the windows, and Victoria huddled by the fire picking coals for the bed warmer. Elizabeth rested against her pillows, eyes closed, lashes dusting her cheeks, playing the part of an exhausted woman.

"There you are Miss," Victoria said demurely, tucking the bed warmer into the coverlet at the foot of the bed, "Must have been a difficult day for you I'm sure."

Elizabeth nodded obligingly, "Mm, yes," She hummed, eyes still closed, "I knew the Commodore would propose, but I must admit I wasn't entirely prepared for it."

Victoria paused, looking at Elizabeth perplexedly. Molly smirked, tying the curtain closed and turning towards her. "She meant y' bein' threatened by that pirate, Miss," Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open and a faint blush colored her cheeks as she looked from Victoria to Molly. Molly raised an eyebrow.

"It must'ave been terrifyin'." She prompted.

"Oh, yes," Elizabeth, nodded, "yes, it was terrifying."

"But," Victoria ventured hesitantly, "The Commodore proposed?"

Elizabeth nodded, picking a loose strand from her blanket distractedly.

"Fancy that," Victoria smiled. "Now that's a smart match Miss," then she hastened to add, "If it's not too bold to say."

Elizabeth wrapped the string around her finger and shook her head, "It is a smart match," she murmured, "He is a fine man. Any woman would dream of marrying him."

Molly sniffed, passing Victoria to take the dinner tray from the night stand, "But that Will Turner," she said, pushing the tea cup into the center of the tray so it wouldn't topple, "He's a fine man too."

Elizabeth's gaze snapped to her, brown eyes hard, "That _is_ too bold."

Molly held her gaze for a moment, before nodding, "Beggin' y'r pardon Miss." She said, turning towards the door, "It's no'my place."

Victoria followed quickly, closing the door softly behind her and brushing past Molly down the hall. Molly sighed. Any other time she would have gotten an ear full for speaking out of turn, but Victoria was still upset with her for that morning. She would have to apologize soon, but for now she took the stairs to the kitchens and dropped off the tray with Old Toby.

"What was that?" Old Toby ambushed her at the entrance of the kitchen, making her jump and causing the tea cup to topple off the edge of the tray and shatter on the floor. Miss Sarah was going to throttle her.

"Toby-," she started, but the cook shushed her.

"Do you hear that?" He asked her again.

"Hear what?" Molly asked, frowning at him, "Toby, look what y'-,"

He shushed her, and in the quiet of the kitchen Molly heard it; the distant thump of canon fire and the sound of the gate crashing. Molly's eyes widened and Old Toby nodded.

"Pirates," he hissed, taking the tray from her and tossing it onto the counter, he grabbed her arm and led her to the servant's exit.

"Wait!" Molly cried, slipping her arm out of his grasp. He looked at her. The clap of a gunshot rang out from the foyer and a scream. "Elizabeth!"

She sprinted back through the kitchen, stopping short when she saw the line of pirates spilling through the front door and into the house. She spun on her heel, darting back into the kitchens and back through a narrow door behind the pantry that led to the servant's staircase. It led up through the walls of the house and into each of the upstairs bedrooms.

She shouldered her way through the first wooden door and stumbled into one of the bedrooms. She sprinted towards the door when it opened. Someone shrieked and Molly skidded to a stop. They clutched at her shoulders.

"Molly?"

"Bessie!" Relief filled her chest, but it was short lived. Pirates banged on the door behind them. They shrieked again and Molly pulled them deeper into the room.

"Elizabeth, they've come t'kidnap y'," Molly hissed. Elizabeth looked at her in confusion.

"What?"

"Y're the Governor's daughter," She said, her grip on Elizabeth's arm tightening, "they're comin' t'take y' f'r ransom."

The pirates banged again, and the door trembled under the force of it. They girls flinched, backing further into the room.

"Molly," Elizabeth said, "They haven't seen you. Hide and the first chance you get run for the fort."

She tried to run for her bedroom, but Molly yanked her back, looking at her like she'd grown two heads, "A'you daft? I'm no' bloody leavin' y'."

The door burst open behind them and they screamed at the resounding crash, sprinting through the adjoining doorway. Elizabeth snatched the bed warmer from the foot of her bed and rounded on the pirates that had followed them. She hit one square in the face and she meant to swing again when one of them grabbed it by the handle and held it aloft.

She struggled to pull it free, and he laughed, mocking her feeble attempts, sticking his tongue out at her. Elizabeth glared at him and pulled the lever to open the lid, letting the hot coals rain down on his head. He screamed and let go of the handle. Elizabeth gasped, jumping back and dropped the bed warmer in surprise, eyes wide.

"No, don't drop it!" Molly shouted, snatching it back up and shoving her past the pirates. "Run!"

The girls sprinted for the stairs with the pirates on their heels. One of them vaulted over the banister and landed at the foot of the stairs. Elizabeth skidded to a stop and Molly nearly tumbled over her. She spun as the second pirate came down the stairs behind them.

She swung the bed warmer at his head, but he ducked, cackling.

Behind them an explosion shook the house as a cannon ball ripped through the far wall. Above them the chandelier swung ominously. Elizabeth used the distraction to duck around the pirates, grabbing Molly by the sleeve of her dress and dragging her across the foyer and into the dining room just as the chandelier fell to the floor with an ear splitting crash.

Molly shut the door behind them, snatching the candle stick from the middle of the table and jamming it in between the handles. The door rattled as the pirates tried to open it, but the candle stick stayed in place.

Elizabeth darted across the room and snatched the sword from the plaque on the wall, but the sword wouldn't come loose. It fell to the ground with a solid thump, making her stumble. She tried to use her foot as leverage to pull the sword out, but Molly pulled her back.

"Stop," Molly hissed, "it's just a decoration."

Elizabeth blanched, letting the thing fall, "What's the use in that?"

Molly rolled her eyes, "S'not supposed t'be useful y' stupid girl, it's supposed to _decorate_ ," She snapped, opening the wall cabinet where they kept the silver and shoving her into it, "Stay here, and no matter what you hear, don't come out." She moved to shut the cabinet, but Elizabeth grabbed her arm, eyes wide. She opened her mouth to say something when the pirates hit the door again and the candlestick went flying along with the splintered wood of the handles.

The twin doors swung open so violently that they bounced back off the wall with a thundering bang and swung closed on the pirate's faces. One of them yelped and clutched his nose, giving Molly a split second to shove Elizabeth into the cabinet and close it back into the wall, covering the seam with her body.

The two pirates stumbled into the room, looking around wildly. Molly jutted her chin out defiantly when they spotted her, holding the bed warmer up like a sword. They grinned wickedly, flashing matching sets of dirty golden teeth, and stalked towards her.

"Where's your little friend, Paddy?" The short one sneered, yellow eyes looking her up and down. "She's got somefin' of ours," he said, "tell us where she is and we'll let you go."

The tall one looked at him, confused, his wooden eye rolling around in his socket making him look deranged. Molly gritted her teeth and said nothing.

The short one grinned, "Thought so." He raised his pistol and Molly swung the bed warmer with a sharp cry, knocking the gun from his hand before he could take aim. Using the momentum of her swing, she turned and jabbed the skinny one in his good eye with the end of the metal handle.

He screamed and stumbled backwards. The short one bared his teeth and stepped forward, snatching at the bed warmer. He pulled hard and Molly stumbled forward but she didn't let go. He snarled, swinging her around and shoving her back, bending her over the edge of the dining room table.

The edge of the table dug into the small of her back and the pirate leaned forward, his face inches from hers.

"Where is she?" He roared, his foul breath washed over her face and Molly grimaced, turning her face away and fighting the urge to gag.

The cabinet doors burst open, "Parley!"

Elizabeth stumbled out of the cabinet, eyes wide. The skinny one stopped his screaming instantly. The short one grinned, backing up and throwing Molly to the floor, ripping the bed warmer out of her hands.

"'Ello, Poppet," He sneered. Molly's eyes widened.

"Parley," Elizabeth repeated. The pirate paused, confusion etched into his sun burned skin.

"Wha'?"

"I invoke the right of Parley," she gasped, her gaze flickering towards Molly and back to the pirates. "According to the code of the brethren, set down by the pirate Morgan and Bartholomew you have to take me to your Captain," she continued, nearly tripping over her words in her hurry to say them.

"I know the code," the pirate growled low in his throat, glaring at Elizabeth.

Out of the corner of her eye Molly spotted the pirate's abandoned pistol on the floor at the edge of the rug. It was too far for her to grab it without alerting them. She cursed herself silently, racking her brains for a way to save them both.

"When an adversary demands parley you can do them no harm until the parley is complete," Elizabeth said.

"To blazes with the code," the skinny one muttered, started forward.

"She wants to be taken' to the Captain," the short one roared, making the skinny one shrink back. He turned back to Elizabeth and grinned, "An' she'll go without a fuss." He stepped forward and grabbed her arm and whispered ominously, "We must honor the code."

Molly scrambled towards the pistol, but the skinny one darted around Elizabeth and beat her to it, placing his foot on the barrel.

"What should we do about her?" he asked.

"She invokes the right of parley as well," Elizabeth said quickly, sending Molly a desperate glance. Molly shook her head.

"Bessie, no," Molly whispered. "Y' can't trust 'em, they're pirates."

"Doesn't sound like she wants to parley," he grinned.

"No," Elizabeth struggled against the short one's grip, but he held fast, "don't hurt her!"

"Leave her," the short one snarled, tightening his grip on Elizabeth's arm and making the girl wince, "we got what we came for."

The skinny one giggled, reaching for the bed warmer. "Just in case you get any ideas about following us," he said, bringing the metal pan down on the side of her head. Molly's head bounced off the wooden floor with a sickening crack and Elizabeth screamed and then everything went black.

* * *

 **Reviews are better than coffee mugs and pencil sharpeners.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: And here we have chapter 4. Thank you so much to everyone who has favorited, followed, and reviewed! I really appreciate your interest and your feedback.**

 **There's not much to say about this one except that things start to get rolling. We finally meet Norrington and Molly suffers from her 'little bump on the head'. I personally have never had a concussion so I have no idea if Molly's symptoms are accurate. I got all my information from Wikihow and the WebMD. This chapter was a bit difficult to write. I wasn't sure how I wanted to portray Norrington and how his affection for Molly ran. I knew that I wanted him to be fond of her, but I wasn't sure how that fondness would manifest itself. They weren't friends like Molly, Elizabeth, and Will, but there's is a kind of bond between them that stems from Molly's childhood years playing around the docks.**

 **Also, the tail end of this chapter was hard to get right. It kind of lulled for a bit, and I wasn't sure where I wanted to end it. I'm pretty much just iffy about this chapter over all so... yeah.  
**

 **Anyway, thanks again guys and I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

 **Where We Will (We'll Roam)**

 **A Bump on the Head  
**

* * *

A bright light and a sharp pain in her head finally dragged Molly back to the land of the living. She heard heavy footsteps and people talking around her. Something soft brushed her forehead gently and she flinched back as the pain pulsed through her skull.

Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked in the bright morning light. Commodore James Norrington hovered over her, his handsome features thrown into sharp relief by the harsh rays of the sun filtering through the dining room windows. He hand was at her forehead, holding something soft to her hairline. She felt something warm crusted on her cheek.

James looked up and spoke firmly to someone in the doorway, "Call the Doctor. Tell him that I sent for him and that it is urgent." He looked back down at Molly and spoke to her softly, but just as firmly, "Miss MacTully, where is Miss Swann? Can you remember anything about what happen last night?"

And just like that, the events of the previous night came flooding back. A cold sweat broke on her forehead and her heart hammered in her chest.

Molly snatched the Commodore's hand, using it to pull herself upright, pale green eyes blown wide, searching for the silver cabinet. It was wide open and empty. "Elizabeth!"

James shushed her gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Cap'n, they've taken 'er." She gasped, her other hand coming up to grip his jacket sleeve, "They kidnapped Eliz'beth!"

"I know." He said. His voice was as firm and collected as ever, but his blue eyes were wide, filled with a kind of emotion that Molly had never seen before. He was frightened. The seemingly unshakable Captain from her youth was _frightened_. Molly's breathing turned quick and shallow, her heart jumped to her throat.

"Miss MacTully," He said, but when she would not calm down he lowered his voice, " _Molly."_ Her grip on his hand turned her knuckles white.

The Commodore continued in the same soft tone, "Molly, you must calm yourself. You've been hurt, you must stay still. I need you to tell me what happened last night."

Molly blinked at him, before bringing a hand up to her forehead to probe the bleeding wound along her hairline. The tips of her fingers came away stained red and she frowned, as if the very sight of her own blood baffled her.

"He hit me," she said, sounding surprised.

"Commodore," He looked up. Gillette stood in the doorway of the dining room with a spindly, grey haired man.

"Doctor," James said, waving the name over with two fingers. Dr. Vance stepped forward, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his beak-like nose, placing his medical bag on the floor and kneeling at Molly side.

"What seems to be the problem here, Commodore?" Vance asked even as he eyed the wound on Molly's forehead critically. "You know, we have an entire port full of people suffering with injuries far more severe than a simple head wound."

"Miss MacTully has sustained a severe blow to the head," James told him. He picked up the bed warmer from the floor. The edge of the pan was dented where it had hit her and drops of her blood stained the metal. James grimaced, "with this."

Dr. Vance looked at the bed warmer over the frames on his glasses and then back to Molly, "Miss MacTully, can you tell me your full name please?"

Molly blinked at him and frowned at James, "Cap'n I'm fine. We need to look for Eliz'beth."

Dr. Vance turned her head towards him and tilted it up with two fingers, "Miss MacTully, it is Commodore Norrington now, do you remember?"

Molly made a face and jerked her head back. She winced as the movement sent a sharp pain through her forehead.

"Yes, I remember," she snapped, her voice rising, "and it seems to me that _Commodore_ Norrington should b'less worried 'bout a little bump on th'head and more worried 'bout _Miss Swann_ , seein' a'she's been _kidnapped_ by _pirates_!"

"That's enough, Miss MacTully," The Commodore said, sharply, "rest assured I am doing all that I can to ensure Miss Swann's safe return, but seeing as you were the last person to be in her company before she was kidnapped it would seem that _you_ are the key to finding her."

Molly opened her mouth to respond but her outburst had drained the last of her energy reserves. Her head swam and she swayed precariously where she sat. Norrington placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her and Dr. Vance made a noise of confirmation in the back of his throat and nodded.

"Miss MacTully you are currently suffering from a concussion." He said, opening his bag and pulling out a small brown bottle and a clean cloth, and set to work with cool efficiency.

He cleaned and dressed the wound with quick, practiced movements, using a strong smelling liquid from the bottle. The Doctor dabbed at her hairline with the cloth and Molly hissed, jerking her head out of his hands. Her head throbbed again in addition to the stinging on her forehead and she winced. Dr. Vance said nothing, but she saw a flicker of annoyance in his eyes as he waited for her to recover and place her head gingerly back into his hands.

When he finished, tying off the bandage just above her ear, he put all his supplies back into his medical bag and stood. He turned to Norrington, "Commodore, I am placing Miss MacTully under your supervision. See to it that she rests and that she avoids any kind of physical or mental exertion for the time being. Now, if you'll both excuse me I have an entire town of patients to see too."

He bowed curtly and strode out of the room.

James sighed, "Always a pleasure, Doctor." He turned to Molly, "Miss MacTully can you stand?"

If she hadn't been concussed, Molly would have shot him with a smart remark, but all she could do was nod weakly. The Commodore wrapped an arm around her shoulders and helped her gently to her feet. Molly leaned against him heavily as the ground tilted beneath her feet and James waited patiently for her to right herself.

She mumbled her thanks as her head stopped spinning, and once her feet were steady she allowed herself to be led out of the governor's house. In the remains of the foyer Miss Sarah and what was left of the staff were huddled at the foot of the stairs. Miss Sarah wailed into her dirty handkerchief as a pair of soldiers carried the limp body of Old Toby out of the kitchens.

Molly paled and her steps faltered. There was a bright red stain on the front of his shirt and his round face was covered in ugly purple bruises. The Commodore's arm around her shoulders tightened and he steered her away from the sight, hurrying her out the door.

He led her through the town and up to the fort, but as much as he tried to shield her from the aftermath of the raid Molly saw enough to make her stomach churn. The bodies of those who hadn't survived were strewn across the ground, broken and bloodied. Those who had survived were bruised and battered, struggling to gather the shattered remains of their lives.

A stab of fear shot through her as Molly scanned the dirty faces of the survivors. Where was her mother? Did she survive the attack? She pulled weakly on the labels of the Commodore's coat as images of her mother's body, limp like Old Toby, flashed across her mind.

"Cap'n," she said, her words slow and slurred, "M'mother, is she-"

James shook his head, "Mrs. MacTully is assisting the nuns in the task of helping the injured in the Church."

Molly nodded. Her mother was alright. The knowledge gave her strength, and she managed to walk the rest of the way to the fort without leaning on the Commodore and he let his arm drop from her shoulders to the small of her back, hovering close in case she should falter again.

Like the rest of Port Royal, Fort Charles had not made it through the raid unscathed. Soldiers were busy with the repairs, buzzing around the fort like bees in a hive as their commanding officers shouted orders at them. Segments of the parapet walls had caved in and the gun deck was littered with cannon holes. A chunk of the sentry tower was missing and the Commodore's office had been reduced to rubble.

"They blew up y'r new office 'fore y' even got a chance to use it." Molly said. There was something terribly ironic about it that nearly sent Molly into hysterics and she wasn't sure if it was from rage or hilarity. The Commodore said nothing, leading her to that far side of the fort that was still intact.

Governor Swann was waiting for them, pacing nervously around a table covered in maps. When he caught sight of Molly walking alongside the Commodore he stopped his pacing and rushed forward.

"Did you see her? Did you see my daughter?" He asked her. The Governor looked in no better condition than the fort. His wig and his hat were still pinned in place, but his face was covered in sweat and dust. His suit was stained and there was a tear at the seam of the shoulder. Miss Sarah was going to have a fit when she saw him.

"Miss MacTully claims that the pirates have taken Elizabeth hostage," the Commodore answered briskly before Molly could start to formulate a response. "Mr. Mullroy fetch a chair." He said, striding around the table and taking off his hat. He tossed it next to the inkpot and placed his hands on either side of the map, leaning on the edge.

Molly watched his shoulder's slump ever so slightly, sagging under some invisible weight, and she realized suddenly that the Commodore might be just as distraught over Elizabeth's kidnapping. The thought made something tighten in her chest.

In the eight years since his assignment to Port Royal, James Norrington had only ever been the end of her childhood games. He was a marble statue, tall and unmoving, with a specific array of expressions, including but not limited to: exasperation, annoyance, frustration, and irritation all directed towards her. Distressed was something Molly had never even fathomed she would see arranged across his noble features.

Mullroy returned with a chair and set it down next to her. Molly nodded distractedly and sat down.

"Miss MacTully," the Commodore began, looking at her from across the table, schooling his expression to one of stern determination, "can you remember anything that happened last night?"

"They were after 'er," Molly said slowly, trying to think through the dull ache in her head, "I was in the kitchen when they broke in. Old Tob-," she flinched, squeezing her eyes shut as the image of Old Toby's lifeless body came into her mind. She took a steadying breath to calm herself and forced his name past her lips, "Old Toby heard them comin' and I tried t'go back. But they came in through the front, so I went back up the old servant's stairs.

"We tried t'get to the front door but they cut us off at the stairs." Molly squinted at the dull gray stone of the fort as she spoke as the memory of the previous night flashed through her head, "They chased us int' the dining room and I told her to hide'n the silver cab'net," she looked at the Commodore, "I _told_ 'er not t'come out, I could 'ave taken them."

"What you could have done is irrelevant now, Miss MacTully," he said. "Continue."

Molly bit her lip against the retort that bubbled in her throat, but did as she was told, "I fought 'em off. I disarmed one an' hit the other one 'n the nose, but the short one grabbed the bed warmer and swung me into th'table." The edge of the bandage tickled her temples and she itched it absently, "Eliz'beth jumped out and demanded 'Parley' for herself and me. I didn' say it though," Molly shook her head, still pulling on the edge of her bandage, "so they hit me and took her."

The Governor gasped, covering his mouth with a torn handkerchief, and turned away from them. He scanned the horizon, as if he could bring his daughter back with the strength of his gaze alone.

"Cap'n, there's somethin' else," Molly looked up at the Commodore, her eyes wide. "They said she 'ad somethin' o'theirs."

Norrington frowned, "What-," but he didn't finish. Will sprinted up to the fort, looking harassed and disheveled but otherwise unharmed, a hatchet held loosely in his hand.

Molly stood and rushed towards him, "Will-," but he strode past her.

"They've taken her," He panted, looking at them all frantically, "they've taken Elizabeth."

James glared at him, "Mr. Murtogg, remove this man."

Murtogg stepped forward and made to grab his arm, but Will shook him off, unconcerned, "We have to track them down, we must save her."

The Governor rounded on him, "And where do you propose we start? If you have any information concerning my daughter, please share it."

"That Jack Sparrow," Mullroy interrupted, "he talked about the Black Pearl. Maybe-,"

Murtogg made a noise of disagreement, "Mentioned it, is more what he did, sir."

Will glanced between them and back to the Commodore, "Ask him where it is, then." He stepped towards the table, his tone urgent, "Make a deal with him. He could lead us to it."

"No, the pirates who invaded the prison left Sparrow locked in his cell, ergo they are not his allies," The Commodore turned back to Molly, effectively dismissing Will with a turn of his head, "Miss MacTully, what did they say she had?"

Will seethed, his face flushed. He swung the hatchet and buried it into the table. "That's not good enough." He roared.

The Commodore regarded the hatchet calmly for a moment, before pulling it out of the table with a sigh, "Mr. Turner," He swept around the table, "you are not a military man, you are not a sailor." He took Will by the arm and led him away from the table, "You are a blacksmith," he said sharply, pressing the hatchet into his chest. "This is _not_ the moment for rash action." He lowered his voice and murmured something to him before shoving him forward towards the town and going back to his maps. Will glared at his back and she saw the resolve in his eyes. Molly felt something snap back into place inside of her, her spine straightened and the fear leaked out of her shoulders. Will spun on his heels and stormed out of the fort.

"Will, wait!" Molly gathered her skirts and took off after him.

"I'm sorry, Molly," he said without breaking stride as she caught up with him, "but I cannot just sit here and do nothing."

"Will," Molly huffed, her breath coming short and her head beginning to ache again. She reached for his shirt sleeve and pulled him to a stop, "just wait a moment."

He stopped and turned to face her, his expression hard and his eyes livid. Molly met his gaze without flinching, jutting out her chin defiantly. His eyes softened when he saw the bandage wrapped around her head.

"You were hurt." His eyebrows knitted together in concern. She grimaced reached up to tug at the bandage, but he caught her wrist. "What happened?"

Molly shrugged him off, "It's nothin'," she said, ignoring the way her head pounded. "It's just a scratch. Will," she grabbed his arm, "the pirate, we have t'act quickly." His expression hardened again, and Molly continued, "The soldiers are all gathered at the fort. There won' be anyone guardin' the prison, we can-,"

"No." Molly blinked at him.

"No?" She said dumbly

Will shook his head, "You need to stay here."

"But I-," She frowned in confusion.

"Molly, you're injured." He said, his hands coming up to grip her shoulders, "You have to stay here."

"Will, don't," Molly warned, squeezing her eyes shut at the rising headache and shaking her head weakly.

"I can't lose you as well."

Molly glared up at him, "No, she's my friend too!"

He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. "I know." He murmured into her hair, "I will bring her back, Molly. I promise." He squeezed her gently before pulling away and running down the street, disappearing into the crowd.

"Will y' bloody bastard, come back here!" She yelled. She made to run after him, but she only got halfway down the street before she was out of breath and dizzy from the pain in her head. She paused a moment to catch her breath and wait for the headache to pass, leaning against the remains of Mr. Jones' fishing cart, letting the morning sun warm her skin and thinking about what to do next.

She couldn't just sit here and wait around twiddling her thumbs. She needed to help them search for Elizabeth. The short pirate was only too willing to take her to their Captain when she had declared 'Parley', and he had said that she had something of theirs. Molly was willing to bet anything that it was the terrifying medallion Elizabeth had worn around her neck that morning.

Following Will was out of the question. He wouldn't take her along no matter how much she reasoned with him. Molly glanced over her shoulder at the docks were the Interceptor was docked. The Commodore would be setting sail soon, and in his haste to leave a stowaway would be easily over looked.

She looked down at her dress and frowned. She would have to change into something less conspicuous and more sea worthy if she wanted to pass as part of his crew. Her father had left his old cloths behind before he set sail on a merchant ship a few weeks ago. Her mother kept them in the trunk with the rest of their cloths and Molly was sure they would fit her well enough to allow her to pass as one of Norrington' men.

She took a deep, steadying breath and pushed herself off of the cart, muscling through her dizziness, and turned up the street towards the tavern, walking briskly through the crowd despite the pain in her head.

It wasn't a very long walk to the tavern, and the pain in her head had settled into a dull ache by the time she reached it.

Her heart lurched as the Prancing Pony came into view at the end of the street. Her home was in ruins. The sign had fallen loose and crashed through the window. It hung by a single bolt, swinging and creaking pathetically in the broken window. Inside the tables and benches were upended and splintered fragments of wood and shattered glass were scattered across the floor. The air was heavy with the smell of spilled beer and rum.

She didn't give herself any time to ponder the fates of Charlie and the rest of the patrons of the Pony, carefully avoiding the dark stains in the wooden floor, stepping through the threshold and making her way towards the back of the tavern and up the stairs that led up to the rooms.

Many of the doors had been ripped off of their hinges or blown apart by ransacking pirates but thankfully, the tiny closet door at the end of the hall had remained overlooked and untouched. She ducked through the door way and took the stairs that led up to the attic room that she and her mother shared.

It was a tiny room, hardly bigger than the pantry in the Governor's mansion, with one mattress shoved against the far wall, a trunk and a wash basin in the corner. A tiny window allowed a few rays of light to filter into the room, illuminating the dust floating in the air. Molly crossed the room in two steps and opened the trunk, rifling through the contents.

Her father's old cloths lay at the very bottom of the trunk, folded carefully and worn soft with use. The shirt was riddled with stitches and the pants had a patch on the left knee, courtesy of her mother. The wool coat was faded, more gray than blue now, and the wide brimmed hat was fraying at the edges.

Molly changed quickly, moving with a calm determination. She was taller than he was then, and he was a little broader around the shoulders. The pants made it just past her knees and the coat hung awkwardly about her shoulders, but it would have to do. Her breasts were small enough that she wouldn't have to bind them and the shirt was large enough that they remained hidden. It was her hair that was the real problem. It was far too long to allow her to pass as a man, falling down to the small of her back when she unpinned it.

She used her father's shaving razor to cut her hair, pulling it over her shoulder and hardly even hesitating as she sliced the strawberry curls at her collar. She dropped the chunk of hair into the washbasin, watching the ringlets coil at the bottom. Her mother would have a fit when she could see her now.

The thought made her pause. Could she really leave her mother behind without even a goodbye? And for what? What could she possibly do that a Naval Officer with a fleet of ships at his command couldn't?

The answer came to her all too easily, but as she stared at the remains of her hair she knew she had already made her decision. She couldn't leave Elizabeth to her fate. Not if there was a small chase that she could do something to help.

She tied her hair back at the nape of her neck with one of her mother's cotton ribbons and pulled the hat over her head, using the brim to cover the bandage on her head. She looked at herself in the tiny mirror hanging over the wash basin, hardly recognizing the narrow face that looked back at her. It was like she had put on another's skin, like the brother she never had. She grinned despite herself, feeling lighter than she had in years.

Glancing over her shoulder at the room that she and her mother shared all her life.

"Sorry mum," she whispered to the empty room, before ducking back out the door. All she could do was hope her mother would understand when she saw her again.

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 **Reviews are better than sunglasses and remote controls.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Ok, so now things are starting to pick up. I want to apologize before hand about the complete and utter inaccuracy that is this fic... the amount of research that I haven't done is shameful. This was probably the hardest chapter to write, because I have a very limited amount of background knowledge to work next one will be out a lot faster now that I've got the hang of it.  
**

 **This may be hard to believe but I've never actually sailed a 17th century Man O' War... I don't even like to go to the beach. The only pirate books I have to model my stuff after are 'The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle' by Avi that I read in middle school (and upon rereading is actually not very good) and 'Treasure Island' by Robert Louis Stevenson which I only read the beginning of in high school** ** **(and upon rereading is actually really good)**. So, I apologize if anything looks fake. It is. I'm completely bullshitting.**

 **Thanks so much again to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and alerted. You are all candy flavored currency.**

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 **Where We Will (We'll Roam)**

 **Stow away**

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Molly kept her head down as she lingered around the docks.

She was hardly recognizable in her father's threadbare cloths, but paranoia had her keeping the brim of her hat down over her eyes as she watched the Commodore prepare the Interceptor. Men were walking up and down the gangway carrying crates and barrels of supplies onto the deck. The Commodore and his officers were gathered at the top of the dock, double checking the log books and directing the men into the ship.

Molly frowned, slowly making her way towards the Interceptor, scanning the docks for anything that would help her get into the ship. A little ways down from her two soldiers were wrestling with a bundle of spare canvas. She smirked.

"I told you it was a real ship," the thin one grunted as he squatted, attempting to gather his end of the canvas into his arms.

"Oh give it a rest, Jim." The other one groaned, struggling to keep his end from slipping through his arms. "How was I supposed to that a crew of the damned and a captain so evil Hell itself spat him back out could possibly exist?"

"Because I _saw_ it!"

"Havin' a bit 'o trouble there, gents?" Molly interrupted, coming up behind them, deepening her voice in a practiced imitation of her father's thick Irish brogue.

They squinted up at her and for an alarming moment Molly thought they realized she was a woman, but the other one shook his head.

"Nope, got it all under control" he said, dismissively. "On your way sailor."

Jim smiled at her politely and nodded, straightening up and adjusting his grip on the canvas causing it to escape the other man's arms and unfurl onto the ground. Molly raised an eyebrow at them. They just stared at the canvas and sighed, their shoulders slumping in defeat.

Taking pity on them, Molly took the canvas from Jim and shook it out, disentangling the bits of rope that fell from the folds. Kneeling on the ground she rolled it up tightly and used the ropes to tie it closed.

"There y' go, boys," she said, picking up the sail and heaving it over her shoulder. She nodded, flashing them a cheeky grin before turning back to the ship, but her eyes widened and she stopped short, nearly tripping over her own feet.

The Interceptor was pulling away from the docks.

"Hey!" The soldiers shouted when they followed her gaze. They barreled past her, running along the bulkhead after the ship, "Wait! Wait for us!"

Molly dropped the canvas roll and sprinted after them, skidding to a stop and joining a crowd of sailors that had been left behind at the edge of the pier. They all watched in stunned silence as the Interceptor pulled up alongside the Dauntless and prepared to board it. The faint, indistinct shouts of the men drifted back to them on the wind as they stormed across the planks and swung across the narrow gap between the ships.

Below them, bobbing pathetically in the wake of the two ships was a long boat. Lieutenant Gillette was standing at the head wave his arms like a maniac and shouting indiscriminately.

"Is it supposed to be doing that?" Jim tapped her on the shoulder, pointing dumbly at the Interceptor as broke away from the Dauntless and sailed out to sea.

The distant sound of gunshots made Molly frown. She swiped a telescope from the belt of one of the sailors and pulled it open. The Commodore was standing at the half deck staring at the departing ship with a pained expression on his face. A line of soldiers on the Dauntless had their guns pointed at the Interceptor and the sailors were pulling out the canons.

Two figures were aboard the Interceptor, steering it out of the bay.

"Will," she breathed when she spotted him on the rigging of the ship and her eyes widened as she watched the second figure at the wheel waving his hat and bowing mockingly to the Dauntless. "It's th'pirate," she laughed incredulously, "They're stealin' th'ship."

"What's going on out there?" An officer elbowed his way through the small crowd and plucked the telescope from her hands and looked through it. "They're taking the Interceptor!" He repeated.

"Why aren't they going after them?" Someone asked. "They're just sitting there.

The officer looked back through the telescope, "They've tangled something in the rudder." He gestured to Molly and the two soldiers behind her, "you three with me." He said, before turning and leading the way back down the dock. "The rest of you ready the dock. Let's clear out this mess."

The three of them exchanged glances before following the officer to the long boats primed on the beach. The soldiers flipped the boat and dragged it into the water. Molly took the oars and helped them push it past the sand bar. They rowed long boat over to the Dauntless, pulling Gillette and his men out of the water along the way.

"Tha's got t'be the best pirate I've e'er seen," Molly muttered under her breath as they rowed up to the rudder. They had jammed a crab trap into the rudder, tangling the rope into the chain and used the buoy as leverage to climb up the back of the ship.

"What was that?" The Lieutenant snapped.

"Uh… nothin', sir." Molly said, looking down at her hands.

He narrowed his eyes at her in a way that might have been intimidating had he not been soaking wet, "What's your name, sailor?"

"Ma-Morgan, sir," Molly stuttered over her name, looking up to meet his pointed gaze. The Lieutenant stared at her for a moment before nodding.

"Mr. Morgan," he sneered, "why don't you do us the honor of undoing the pirate's work and we'll meet you on deck."

Molly frowned and opened her mouth to protest.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Morgan?" The Lieutenant asked. Molly snapped her mouth shut and shook her head. This wasn't the governor's house hold and she wasn't little Molly MacTully. Somehow she doubted Lieutenant Gillette would tolerate her back talk like Miss Sarah had.

"Aye, sir," She muttered, standing up on the boat and pulling out her father's old dirk out of waistband of her pants and cutting the ropes loose of the chain, letting them drop into the water. When she freed the crab trap from the rudder she dumped it onto the Lieutenants lab and, before he could say anything, she swung on the rope hanging from the barrel and climbed up to the stern. She untied and buoy from the railing and let it drop into the water.

By the time she made it up the stern and over the railing onto the deck the Lieutenant and the rest of the men were gathered on the Quarterdeck discussing what to do next. The Commodore had his back to her as he leaned against the railing, staring out after the shrinking form of the Interceptor.

Molly edged along the outside of the group of men, keeping out of the Commodore's line of sight and settling beside the two soldiers from before. When he spotted her the Lieutenant narrowed his eyes at her.

"Rudder's clear, sir." She said, keeping her voice deep.

He nodded and turned to the Commodore.

"Do we follow them sir?"

The Commodore shook his head, "The Dauntless needs to be supplied." He pushed off of the railing and stalked up to the main deck, his face livid and his posture stiff. Molly turned her head away, lowering the brim of her hat over her eyes as he passed her. "Bring her to port. Miss Swann safe return remains our priority."

Gillette shouted the order and the men scattered, pulling up the anchor and turning the ship back around and riding the tide into port.

"I told you he was telling the truth, Jim," one of the soldiers muttered. Jim rolled his eyes.

"Oh, give it a rest, Robert."

…

The Dauntless was ready to set sail within a day of Will and Jack's commandeering of the Interceptor but the Commodore was forced to wait until high tide the next morning. Unfortunately, this put them two days behind Elizabeth and the Black Pearl.

The Captain worked them tirelessly and Molly struggled to keep up. Though she had worked hard all her life nothing could have prepared her for the sheer amount of physical labor that was expected of her aboard the Dauntless as Mr. Morgan. Her body ached by the end of the first day, as if it had been pounded mercilessly by one of Prudence's carpet beater. Her hands, already rough from years of dish soap and silver polish, were rubbed raw, cracked and bleeding from splicing ropes and tying knots. Her freckled skin burned in the Caribbean sun, turning an angry shade of pink.

Maintaining her charade as Mr. Morgan was only possible as long as she didn't draw attention to herself so she was forced to keep her pains to herself. She wrapped her blistered hands in scraps of fabric and used a few drops of tea from her rations to sooth her sunburn. Shirking her duties was out of the question and every day from dawn till dusk she worked with the crew, swabbing the deck, scraping the hull, and tarring the rigging. She ate with the crew in the galley, watching from her spot on the steps as they gossiped like a gaggle of maids.

Their favorite topic of conversation was the infamous Jack Sparrow.

"I heard 'e impersonated an officer o' the Spanish Royal Navy," said Fitz, a leathery faced Welsh sailor, "t' find the sword o' Cortés."

"How'd he do that with all the," Johnson, a baby faced man and the youngest of them after Molly, gestured at his head vaguely in reference to the pirate's hair.

"'Cause 'em Spanish bastards are a bunch o' bloody imbeciles," Dillinger, the oldest of them, muttered around his pipe. The galley erupted with laughter.

"I 'ad a cousin who knew a man in Nassau," Barlow, a blond haired British sailor, began and the man beside him, Grimes, slapped him on the shoulder, his face eager.

"I 'eard about Nassau," he said with a wicked grin, "they say he sacked the 'hole port without firin' a single shot."

Molly frowned, "How'n the world did he manage tha'?"

He grinned at her, "That's the beauty of it. It's a pirate haven now and no one knows 'ow it happened! All they know is that they got Sparrow t'thank f'r it."

"Aye, he's a tricky one, that Sparrow," said Harkins, the cook, wiping his hands on his apron and sitting on one of the benches. "Craziest bastard I've ever saw, and only 'alf the stories they tell 'bout him are lies."

They all laughed at that.

"I'll be willing to bet that there's more truth to 'em stories then they want you thinkin'," Doyle said, from his spot on the step above Molly. He smirked, taking a deep drag from his pipe, "It takes some balls t'go up against the Commodore, but t'steal a ship from right under 'is nose the day after you threaten' his lady." The sailor shook his head, smoke curling from his mouth as he spoke, "Sparrow's a crazy one, but he's crazy enough for all these stories to be true. I'll bet m'hat on it."

"She's not 'is lady," Molly muttered under her breath, but she said it louder than she thought because nearly everyone turned to look at her. Her eyes widened and she blushed.

"Yet," she amended quickly, nearly forgetting to imitate her father's deep voice. "El-Miss Swann never answered the Commodore's proposal," She cleared her throat, hoping to play it off, "Right?"

They all laughed at her. Doyle slung an arm across her shoulder, "Aye, Miss Swann is still Miss Swann for now." He shook her roughly, grinning playfully, "Maybe she'll be so grateful we rescued her, that she'll forget all about the ol' Commodore and pick one of us instead aye lad?"

The crew roared at that.

Molly rolled her eyes and shoved him away, but her blush didn't go away and that only made then laugh harder. Thankfully, the attention span of a sailor is short. They traded stories and rumors till the late hours of the night, each tale more unbelievable than the last. Molly fell into her hammock every night and slept the sleep of the dead- until Lieutenant Groves rang the morning bell and Molly found herself on deck once more, working under the blue Caribbean sky.

Avoiding the Commodore and Governor proved to be easier than Molly thought. The Governor never left his cabin and the Commodore almost never came down from the wheel and spent most of his days pouring over maps and charts and watching the horizon. Molly was busy enough and the ship was big enough that they never crossed paths while she was working. Lieutenant Gillette, however, was a different story.

He was constantly on deck, relegating orders from the Captain and supervising their work, and he had never quite forgiven Mr. Morgan for dropping the crab trap onto his lap in front of his men- which was how she found herself being saddled with the most menial tasks during his watch.

Despite the initial difficulties, Molly had taken to life at sea the way only the child of a sailor could. She had found her sea legs quickly enough, and after a week on board she moved like she was born on the deck of a ship. The rocking of the ship seemed as familiar to her as the smell of the sea, or the feeling of the wind tossing her hair, which made things like mopping the deck absolutely mind numbing.

She was too busy cursing Lieutenant Gillette to Davy Jones locker that she didn't hear the boots approaching until it was nearly too late. Molly ducked her head as the Commodore approached the forecastle deck flanked by his Lieutenants, with Robert and Jim following closely behind, their muskets clutched tightly in their hands.

They smiled at her when they saw her and Molly nodded, giving them a small smile in return before moving out of their way. They were an odd pair. The two blundering soldiers had latched on to her after she met them on the docks. Molly spent almost as much time fixing their mistakes as she did her own, but she had become endeared to them over the course of that first week.

The Commodore and his Lieutenants were arguing about something and Molly had managed to linger around the edges of their conversation and eavesdrop without being noticed, taking her time to mop around the spot beside them.

"It's been two days and we haven't had a single sighting," Gillette said insistently to the Commodore, "We cannot keep sailing aimlessly."

"Mr. Turner seemed convinced that Sparrow knew something about the pirates that had taken Miss Swann, maybe we should adjust course to follow the Interceptor." Lieutenant Groves suggested.

Molly risked a glance over her shoulder at the Commodore. He was as immaculate as ever- back ramrod straight, wig freshly powdered, his uniform crisp and clean- but Molly saw something straining at the corners of his eyes. He looked tired. The search was beginning to take its toll on him.

The thought of Elizabeth- where she was, if she was alright, the urgency of the search- was always in the back of Molly's mind. There were moments, when the waves lulled and the winds quieted when her heart would beat frantically and she would scan the horizon for any sign of the black sails that had stolen her friend. But where Molly was always called back for something and forced to shove her panic aside for the rigging or the deck, all the Commodore had was his office and his maps and the Governor breathing down his neck about 'sailing aimlessly'.

Elizabeth was probably all he thought about. There was no one to take his mind off her, nothing to make him feel useful. It was how Molly would have felt had she listened to Will and stayed in Port Royal. She would have been driven mad.

The Commodore shook his head, "Whatever he told Mr. Turner was most likely a lie to ensure his freedom."

"Well, it seems to me that Sparrow is the only lead we have," Groves pressed, but Norrington rounded on him.

"Then where do you propose we start, Lieutenant Groves? As you said, it has been two days which means we are two days behind Sparrow and Turner where ever they are."

"Well, they can't sail a ship a'by themselves," Molly piped up, laying on her accent as thick as she could. They turned towards her and she placed a hand over her eyes in a show of blocking the sun to keep her face hidden from the Commodore, "they're goin' t'have to stop an' make port. Hire a crew t' sail the Interceptor."

The Commodore stared at her.

"Sir," She amended quickly.

"Sparrow did say something about picking up a crew in Tortuga," Robert ventured hesitantly, drawing their attention back from Molly. The Commodore was silent for a long moment. His steely glare fixed on the horizon line for so long he seemed frozen that way, like a stone statue.

"Sir?" Gillette prompted and Molly nearly strangled him. Norrington sighed, closing his eyes.

"Adjust coarse for Tortuga," he said, finally, though the words sounded forced.

Lieutenant Groves nodded and he shouted the order back to the Capitan. The Commodore sighed and turned his glare onto Molly and she almost returned it. She would have, had she been Molly MacTully, but she wasn't Molly anymore. She was Mr. Morgan and so she nodded respectfully and moved to help the crew adjust the course.

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 **Reviews are like pencils and couches.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Ok, I take it back. Now it should be moving faster. This chapter was so hard. I wasn't sure what I wanted to happen so I changed my mind a lot. I had to do a lot of back and forth with a friend of mine and a lot of going back and rewriting certain scenes. It was a process and I did it all faster than I've ever done before so there will be mistakes. Fair warning.**

 **Anyway, I know where I want to go from here. We're catching up to Will and Jack and with the rest of the movie. We're just one step behind them, so hang in there. I know some of you were disappointed when I didn't have Molly going with Jack and Will and I was tempted to go that way, but I just felt like having her sneak after Norrington was better for her story arc. She can get away with more things than she can with Will. Will doesn't take any of her shit and Norrington is too fond of her to be too mad at her for anything (which is why she never really stayed away from the docks when she was younger).**

 **Will would actually make her row all the way back to Port Royal.**

 **Molly will meet Jack though, there will be interaction with the crew of the Pearl and Barbossa and all of that good stuff. Unfortunately it's more towards the end of the fic and the middle is just Jim and Robert and plain vanilla-nerd Norrington and a bunch of original characters... Sorry.**

 **Minor Disclaimer: Like the last chapter, the events in the storm and the general goings on of the ship are taken in part from 'The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle' by Avi. I have a limited amount of knowledge on rigging ships and what happens in storms on the ocean so I needed reference. Mary Mack is a Scottish folk song and I don't own it.  
**

 **Thanks for sticking with me this far though guys! I really appreciate it.**

 **EDIT: This chapter has been updated as of 9/26/15**

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 **Where We Will (We'll Roam)**

 **Blood Bird (alternatively titled: Yeah, but did you die?)**

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Molly spotted the bird two days after they changed course. She was scraping down the capstan with Jim and Robert standing at attention beside her. The sun beat down on the deck, frying them like eggs in a skillet. Sweat rolled down her back and beaded on her forehead; her red curls were sun bleached and limp, damp strands that had fallen free from the tie clung to her sweat slick skin.

She had left her jacket below deck. The wool trapped heat like her mother's oven and after three days of being baked for the sake of keeping herself hidden she had abandoned it. She kept her vest buttoned up over her chest most days but the cotton shirt was large enough that she could go without it on the hotter ones.

"But what were the odds that a ship with black sails would be the same ship that's crewed by the damned and captain by a man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out would attack Port Royal?"

"The same odds that no ship with black sails wouldn't attack Port Royal on the very day Sparrow mentioned the Black Pearl." Jim countered. Robert made a face and he amended, "Which is to say slim to none."

Molly rolled her eyes. Their constant round about bickering had gone from a pleasant distraction from the heat and the ache in her arms to an incessant buzzing in the back of her head that made everything that much harder to ignore. She was slowly losing her patience with their never ending argument of the existence of the Black Pearl and whether it really did attack Port Royal or if it was just a plain ship with black sails. The muscles in her arms burned as she threw all her weight against the scraper over and over again.

"How many ships with black sails could there possibly be?" Jim asked him, sounding as exasperated as Molly felt.

"How many ships are there that are crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil Hell itself-,"

"God almighty," she muttered under her breath before dropping her scraper and looking up at them, "Boys! F'r the love of God, would y' shut up?"

They jumped at her outburst, fixing her with pair of hurt expressions.

"How's 'bout I teach y' a little song?" She asked, forcing herself to sound cheerful, tightening her hand wraps and stretching out her cramped fingers. "It'll help us t'pass the time an' maybe we can postpone the rest o' this," she hesitated, searching for the right word, " _riveting_ argument f'r later, aye?"

They considered it, eyeing one another wearily before Jim asked her, "What kind of song?"

"It's called Mary Mack," she said, picking dried oakum from underneath her nails, "My father used t'sing it when I was younger. I'll warn y' though. It's a bit 'o a tongue twister."

"How does it go?" Robert asked her eagerly. He was particularly fond of tongue twisters. Molly imagined that it stemmed from his maddening ability to talk himself in circles without ever saying a damn thing.

"It goes like this," Molly cleared her throat and spoke the chorus quickly like she had remembered her father doing, laying her accent on as thick as she could, "Mary Mack's father's making Mary Mack marry me; My father's making me marry Mary Mack. I'm going to marry Mary so my Mary will take care of me. We'll all be feeling merry when I marry Mary Mack." She gave them a lopsided grin. "Have you got it?"

They blinked.

"Nah, y're right, that's t'difficult," she conceded, "How 'bout this, if I sing the first line would you sing the second line?"

Jim opened his mouth to reply before he hesitated, "What was it?"

"Here," Molly sat back on the capstan, "when I say, 'Mary Mack's father's makin' Mary Mack marry me' y're goin' t'roll back, 'My father's making me marry Mary Mack' can y' do that?"

The mouthed the words, mulling them over before nodding together.

"Now, let's try it." She said and sang, tapping the beat on her thigh, "Mary Mack's father's makin' Mary Mack marry me."

They hesitated, waiting for the other to start before singing, "My father's making me marry Mary Mack," a beat after the other.

"Good," Molly nodded slowly, "now if y' could both do it together tha'd be wonderful. One more time," and she sang the first line again, tapping the beat on her thigh.

They sang the second line but Molly didn't hear them. Something moved out on the water out of the corner of her eye.

A red bird with a long black beak perched on a broken branch, a drop of blood in the deep blue of the ocean, bobbing up and down on the waves. Her father's voice sounded in her head, a story from her childhood told in front of the fire place in the Prancing Pony.

' _Birds are an omen out o'the water.'_ He had told her _, 'whether they're good o' bad, well tha' depends o'where y' are.'_

For a moment she and the bird simply stared at each other. The bird tilted its head to the side, ruffling its feathers as if it was wondering what in the world a ship was doing in the middle of the ocean.

 _'A bird at sea can mean two things: land o' storm. Bet y' can guess which one a sailor doesn't ever want t'see.'_

The bird chirped once and flitted up from the branch and flew up into the rigging. Molly jumped from the capstan and bolted passed Robert and Jim, ignoring their calls of surprise. She took the stairs to the quarter deck two at a time.

"Cap'n, there's a-,"

"We know, Mr. Morgan," the Captain said, eyes hard as he watched the horizon. There was nothing but clear blue sky for miles except for a cluster of black clouds, nothing more than a smudge, in the distance.

He turned to Mr. Doyle at the wheel, "Adjust course-"

"Wait," Molly blurted. They stared at her, "make f'r the edge o' the storm."

"Mr. Morgan-," The Captain began but Molly cut him off.

"If y' set us right it'll blow us straight through t'Tortuga an' we can make up the time we've lost."

"Y're daft man," Doyle spat, staring at her like she had sprouted another head. Molly ignored him.

"Cap'n?" Molly prompted. The man considered her silently before speaking.

"Mr. Doyle set a course for the edge of the storm." Molly grinned.

"Sir!" Doyle blanched.

"Do as you're told, man," the Captain snapped, "I will alert the Commodore. Mr. Morgan, tell the crew to get ready," he looked back over the ocean, eyeing the black clouds with a manic kind of determination in his eyes that made him look years younger, "There's a storm coming."

Molly grinned at him and nodded, "Aye, sir."

…

It took them a day and a half to reach the storm. They sailed through the curtain of rain at noon on the sixth day and the result was almost instantaneous. Black clouds swallowed the sun and the wind picked up in a violent whirlwind, catching the sails with a loud boom of stretched canvas, jerking the ship forward and dragging them deeper into the storm.

"All hands! All hands!"

The men sprang into action, scrambling across the deck, bent against the pounding wind and rain. They lashed down ropes and rigging, keeping the sails from tearing free from their running ropes.

"All hands! All hands!"

The Dauntless pitched and yawned as the sea churned beneath it. Molly struggled to keep her footing, trying frantically to tie down her rope with rain slick fingers. A wall of water crashed onto the deck, hurling her across the deck like a rag doll, in a vicious flurry of foam and sea water.

The rope slipped from her hands as she was thrown against the railing. Water filled her eyes and her mouth as she rolled across the deck, stunned and choking on foam. Many of the sails snapped free from the running rope with a deafening crack and tearing and whipping out of control.

"All hands aloft!" The Captain shouted orders furiously above the shrieking of the wind, not even bothering to run the order through the first mate first, "All hands aloft!"

Molly pulled herself up to her feet and tried to catch her breath. Above her the men were working to tie down the sails but the foreward sail had collapsed in on itself, filling with water quickly and threatening to burst.

She swung herself onto the rigging and climbed, fighting hand over hand, foot after foot, against the relentless pounding of the rain on her back. The wind battered her on all sides, whistling and shrieking in her ears. The vehement plunging and rolling of the ship threatened to pitch her from the rigging and into the churning black water below.

Beside her, another shape materialized in the rain, climbing up the rigging. He shouted something at her but she didn't hear what it was. The vast white expanse of the sail smacked against the mast, swaying with the movement of the ship. The mast groaned, and Molly could see it through the nearly blinding rain, bending like a bow under the weight of the sail as it filled with water.

She needed to cut it loose quickly or the mast would break. The other man on the rigging obviously had the same idea. He climbed quickly and swung up onto the spar first. He turned and held out his hand to help her up.

She reached out to take it when a flash of lighting lit up his face for a split second and the blue eyes of the Commodore stared back at her before being obscured by the rain once more.

"We have to cut away the foreyard before it pulls down the mast!" He shouted at her, waving his hand urgently in her face.

His statement of the obvious broke through her shock. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Molly would have rolled her eyes, but she took his hand and let him pull her up to straddle the spar in front of him.

"Do you have a knife?" He yelled in her ear.

"Aye, Cap'n," she cried, crawling forward along to the far end of the spar.

She pulled out her father's knife and began hacking away at the ropes lashing the sail. The ropes snapped under the end of her knife, coming loose and flying apart as she crawled along the spar. The mast groaned again in response to the lopsided weight, swaying dangerously. Molly's legs tightened around the spar as the ship was tossed by another wave.

The Dauntless heeled violently and for a moment she felt weightless, suspended in the air. She heard the mast moan again and she knew that if they didn't rid it of the sail now it would break when the ship came back down on the water. Somewhere behind her, the Commodore cut the final rope tying the sail to the mast and it wrenched itself free from the mast with a thundering clap, spinning and twisting into the black.

The Dauntless hit the water with a terrifying crash, jerking the entire ship and flinging her from the spar and into the storm.

Her scream was swallowed by wind and she was sure she was going to die without ever seeing Elizabeth and Will again. The Commodore would be so surprised to see her when they found her on the deck in the aftermath of the storm. She could almost imagine the look on his face and it would have made her laugh if she hadn't been falling to her death.

Her shoulder collided with the edge of the trestletree at mid-mast and she nearly rolled off the edge of it. Frantically she scrambled for purchase, digging her nails into the wood and pulling herself back onto it. She curled her body around the mast, hugging it tightly and shivering as the rain pelted her back and her shoulders, soaking through the thin material of her shirt.

She stayed there for what felt like hours, struggling to catch her breath slow her heart. Below her the shouts of the men and the Captain yelling orders rang out over the wind. Her shoulder ached, and she focused on the pain, using it to calm herself, as the storm continued to rage around her.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the rain stopped. The wind slowed and the sea calmed, easing the Dauntless back into it's steady, comforting rhythm. Molly looked up. The sky had opened up above them and the sun broke through the clouds, shining on the deck and warming her face.

The entire crew seemed to sigh in relief as they passed through the edge of the storm. She slackened her grip on the mast and wiped her face on her sleeve, taking deep breaths to still the tremble in her fingers. She felt flimsy, paper thin and exhausted as she dropped the remaining feet onto the deck to join the men.

The Lieutenants were already back to shouting orders. They had left their wigs in their cabins, trading their pristine uniforms for plain shirts and trousers to help during the storm. They were all soaked through and waterlogged, and the Commodore was in no better state.

He climbed down from the rigging looking harried and windswept and Molly let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him. He too was without his wig and his short hair was damp, dark strands plastered across his forehead. His sopping shirt hung heavy on his broad shoulders, clinging to his damp skin.

He swung nimbly down from the ratlines and landed on the deck with a grace that Molly had no idea he possessed. He shouldered his way through the crowd of sailors, his eyes searching the deck frantically for something. Molly's eyes widened and she turned quickly. He was looking for her. He had seen her fall.

She ducked quickly behind Jim and Robert as they fussed with a mound of scrapped sail on the deck.

"Have you got the knife?" Jim asked, fumbling through the pockets on his uniform.

Robert squinted up him, "I thought you had it?"

"So did I," Jim said, brow furrowed in confusion when he found his pockets empty.

"Jim," Robert cried, dropping the edge of the sail, "that's the third one you've lost!"

Molly bent to help them, pulling out her knife and handing it to Jim. He reached to take it, but stopped short at the sight of her. The knife slipped through his fingers and his jaw dropped. Robert's eyes bulged and his face turned a violent shade of scarlet.

She frowned at them, "Wha'sa matter with you two?"

Jim pointed at her dumbly, "Your shirt-," he cleared his throat. Robert slapped his hand down wordlessly.

She made a face at them and looked down.

Her shirt was soaked through completely, clinging to her torso, the curve of her breasts clearly visible through the thin fabric. Molly cursed, crossing her arms across her chest. From across the deck the Commodore stopped short and she met his gaze for the first time since they set sail.

"Molly MacTully," his voice was sharp, but she could hear the relief in his breath even from across the deck. She watched as several emotions flickered across his face too quickly for her to read them. His eyes hardened and his nostrils flared; he crossed the deck in four longs strides, kicking aside the edge of the fallen sail with the side of his foot. Molly shrank back against the railing.

"Why am I not surprised?" He practically growled at her, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards him. She stumbled forward, bracing a hand against his chest. He steered her around and led her roughly across the main deck.

Molly opened her mouth to answer him but the look on his face made the words lodge themselves in her throat. She had never seen him look that angry before. A muscle in his jaw clenched, "Never in all my years."

The crew looked up as they passed, pausing what they were doing to watch as the Commodore practically dragged her across the deck to his cabin. Molly could feel their eyes on her, flickering back and forth between them in confusion. She saw their eyes widen in shock and realization when they caught sight of her wet shirt and felt her face burn.

"Captain, my quarters please," Norrington ordered, his voice carrying over the deck, without even breaking stride.

"Aye, sir." The Captain answered from the wheel.

They passed a stunned Gillette, "Lieutenant, back to work."

She heard Gillette stuttered the order back to the crew as the Commodore opened the door to his cabin and shoved her inside. She stumbled slightly over the edge of the blue rug in the center of the room.

The Commodore's quarters had somehow survived the storm relatively intact. Everything that couldn't be tied down was stored safely in the chests and drawers bolted into the floor. There were a few scattered things strewn across the floor. His sheets and pillows had been thrown from the bed in the corner and the cabinet on the far wall had fallen open. Candle sticks and broken cups littered the floor, bits of broken glass glittered in the light streaming through the windows.

"Of all the women I've ever met," He snapped, closing the door behind him and turning to her, eyes flashing, "you are by far the most reckless, hard headed-,"

"You didn't really think I could stay behind and do nothing?" Molly rounded on him, "Elizabeth is my friend. I've as much a right to go after her as you and Will!"

"Then what, Molly?" He asked, "Did you really think that I wouldn't notice?"

"I've been on this ship for four days and no one suspected a thing before the storm." Molly countered, "Least of all you."

He let out a heavy sigh, glaring at her and she glared right back. The charade was over now. She was no longer Mr. Morgan; she was Molly MacTully once again.

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "Of all the irresponsible-," He cut himself off, turning to pace the length of the room. He stopped short, placing his hands on the edge of the bare desk. The anger seemed to flush out of him and his shoulders slumped as he leaned against the table.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous this was?" His voice softened in exasperation. He glanced at her over his shoulder and his eyes almost seemed to plead with her, "I watched you fall from the mast, you could have been killed."

They stared at each other, neither of them willing to give way. Molly flushed under his steady gaze, but she pursed her lips, refusing to back down.

It was so strange to see him without his wig and uniform. It unnerved her, to see him so vulnerable, so human. She had to fight the urge to fix him, to find his wig and shove it back onto his head, to make him look like the unshakable Captain again and not this rugged sailor man with piercing blue eyes.

A knock at the door made them look around.

Norrington cleared his throat, pushing himself up from the desk and crossing the room to open the door. The Captain stood in the door way, looking just as damp and disheveled as they did; his normally immaculate salt and pepper beard was a mess of frizzy curls and his hair was fighting against the leather thing holding it back. He had attempted to clean up on ceremony, having tucked in his shirt and donned his coat before knocking on the Commodore's door.

"Commodore." He nodded respectfully but when he saw Molly standing in the middle of the room his eyes narrowed suspiciously, "So, this is our little stow away, aye?"

Norrington stepped aside, letting him enter the room and closing the door behind him, "Captain Hollybrass, may I present Miss MacTully," he said, in a flourish of exaggerated propriety. Molly rolled her eyes and Norrington scowled at her, "the source of our numbers problem."

The Captain looked her up and down once and raised his eyebrows, "You caused quite a stir, Miss MacTully. It's not often things escape my notice."

Molly said nothing. She raised her chin defiantly, meeting his gaze head on.

He frowned at her, "Miss MacTully, I don't think you realize the severity of what you have done. Your actions have put both yourself and my crew in considerable danger."

Molly gaped at him, "How?"

"To presume to work as a sailor aboard a ship without the proper skills puts everyone at risk."

She arched an eyebrow, "You didn't seem to have a problem with my skills when it was _Mister_ Morgan who had them."

"Now, see here, Miss MacTully. That is-,"

"Different now that you know I'm a woman." Molly finished for him.

"Molly," Norrington said in warning, but she ignored him.

"May I remind you, _Captain_ ," She continued, drawing herself to her full height, "that I was a woman when we first set sail? I was a woman when I suggested we ride out the storm and I was a woman when you took that suggestion-,"

"Miss MacTully, that's enough."

Again, they stared at each other, neither of them breaking eye contact.

The Captain crossed his arms, brown eyes reassessing. "Very well, if Miss MacTully insists on being a part of the crew, then that it is with the crew that she'll stay." He turned to Norrington and smirked, "What say you, Commodore?"

"An excellent idea, Captain," he answered without looking away from Molly, "Have Lieutenant Groves put her down as _Mister_ MacTully and see to it that _he_ is reintroduced to the crew."

"Aye, sir." The Captain grinned and started towards the door, "This way Mister MacTully."

"Wait," Molly blinked, looking between them, "You're not going to send me back?"

"Send you back?" The Captain barked a laugh. "Oh aye, you can row yourself back to Port Royal in a long boat."

Norrington raised an eyebrow at her and looked pointedly out the window at the shrinking smudge of the storm, "We're in the middle of the Caribbean, Mister MacTully," The corner of his mouth twitched, "I'm afraid there's no getting rid of you, now."

 **Reviews are better than paper towels and floppy disks.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: IMPORTANT PLEASE READ: I've edited a good chunk of the last chapter and exchanged an entire scene for this chapter. You don't have to go back and read it, but it's a cute little scene that gives us more Molly and Murtogg/Mullroy interaction and some shanty singing.**

 **ALSO IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: I completely bullshitted the sailing scene at the end of this. I have absolutely no idea if any of what I said is correct. I'm pleading artistic license. Also, my sense of mariner time is completely fucked so I had to go back and edit a lot of the 'days gone by' things. If you notice a mistake in the time spent at sea feel free to let me know. I'm so confused.**

 **Now, we're going to be joining back with the movie. Elizabeth and Jack will make their appearance in the next chapter and Molly will finally be introduced to our problematic fav and learn all about the Black Pearl.**

* * *

 **Where We Will (We'll Roam)**

 **No place for a woman, but "I'm still on this bloody ship."**

* * *

The Captain led her out onto the deck and presented her to the crew. He didn't drag her and she followed him silently up onto the quarter deck. The crew had grown silent. They stilled on the rigging and their hands slackened on the ropes.

"Gather 'round gent's," the Captain called, his voice deceptively merry. "We've found a stow away!"

Every single one of them stared up at her but Molly didn't bother to hide herself. Whatever modesty she had possessed was lost now, left somewhere in Port Royal with her mother. She stood fast with her head held high, chin raised defiantly, as if daring them to say something.

"This here's _Mister_ MacTully," he gestured grandly to Molly, his beard pulled up at the corners in a pleasant smile. She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious of his sudden good cheer, " _He_ wishes to join the crew for true."

There was a wide spread murmur of confusion among the crew. Many of them shared suspicious glances and she heard her assumed name whispered aloud here and there. She caught the eyes of several men, and each one of them looked down at her shirt and up at her face and away again, their expressions slack as they tried to reconcile her with the Mr. Morgan they had come to know.

"Show him no quarter," the Captain continued, turning to glare at each of them in turn, "You are to treat him no differently than you have been, or you will answer to me. Am I understood?"

"Aye, sir!" They all shouted. The Captain nodded in approval.

"Alright, back to work, the lot of you," the crew dissolved back into their work instantly and he turned to Molly, "Same to you, Mr. MacTully." He said, his voice low and his face suddenly serious, "I will be watching you _very_ closely."

Molly stared at him for a moment, trying to decipher his words. Was that supposed to scare her? What is a warning?

"Aye, sir," she said, not bothering to lower her voice or hide behind her father's accent.

His beard twitched but he nodded and turned away. Molly spun on her heel and jumped down the stairs to join the crew. They gave her a wide berth as she made her way to the forecastle deck, going silent when she moved to help with the rigging.

She glared at them, but tied her ropes in silence and they continued on but everything was different.

Jim and Robert no longer sought her out while she worked and the men no longer told their dirty jokes in her company. The crew grew quiet whenever she entered the forecastle to sleep. They muttered among themselves and whispered whenever she passed.

The first person to acknowledge her directly was Graham, the cook. He shoved her bowl of stew into her face with the same curt nod that he always did and grunted at her under his breath.

"Welcome aboard," Molly frowned at him before he added, with an impish smirk, " _Mister_ MacTully."

He winked at her discreetly as she took the bowl from him and murmured, "Don' let 'em cut y'r sails, lad. They're a stubborn lot, got t' shove it through their thick heads."

With a grateful nod Molly crossed the galley to take her usual place on the steps.

"Bad luck, to have a woman aboard," Doyle muttered as she passed, hunching his shoulders over the table as if that would keep her from hearing his words.

"It ain't natural," breathed Fitz, the boatswain, "f'r a girl t'be dressin' like a man."

"Ship's no place f'r a wom'n," Talbert spat. "Cap'n should've dropped 'er in a long boat and been done with 'er."

Molly stopped. Her knuckles tightened on the edge of her bowl. "What was that, Talbert?" She asked loudly, turning towards him.

The Galley grew silent and everyone looked around at her. Talbert didn't answer her, staring resolutely down into his tankard.

"Go on," she taunted, setting her bowl down in the table beside him and placing her hands on her hips, "what did y' say? Don't worry, y' can tell me. Or are y' scared o' tiny, simp'rin', little Molly MacTully?"

"I said, we should 'ave dropped y' in a long boat and been done with it." He said without looking at her and taking a swig from his tankard.

Molly smiled mockingly and shook her head, "No, 'fore that."

Talbert sighed and slammed his tankard onto the table.

"A ship," he drawled, popping the 'p', "is no place f'r a woman,"

He lifted the tankard for another drink, but Molly snatched it from his hands. The sharp smell of the rum burned her nose and made her eyes water. Talbert glared at her and- without breaking eye contact- Molly raised the tankard to her lips and down the rest of his drink.

The crew roared in surprise, jumping out of their seats to get a better view as she chugged the rest of his rum. It was warm and smooth on her tongue, but it burned her throat as it went down her throat. She nearly choked on it, but forced herself to continue to drink without pausing. Talbert's eyes widened and the men's laughter reverberated through the galley.

Many of them egged her on, hooting and cheering and banging on the tables with their fists. The warmth of the liquor spread through her chest and into her limbs and she grew light headed for a moment before finishing the last of the rum. She hissed as the burn in her throat subsided and she leaned over Talbert.

"I'm a woman, Talbert," Molly rasped and he winced at the sharp smell of rum on her breath, "and I'm on this ship. I was a woman when y' all thought I was a man, and I was on this ship. There's no difference," she stepped back and addressed the crew, shouting over their cheering, "'tween the man y' all knew and who I am right now. I am still on this bloody ship whether y' lot like it or not!"

She slammed the tankard down on the table with a fierce finality and burped loudly, making the crew laugh and cheer louder. Face flushed and eyes watering, she sneered at Talbert and took her stew and swept out of the galley, the shouts of the crew following her out onto the deck.

…

She woke up early the next morning, the day after the storm, aching from head to toe. Her head ached from the rum the night before, her shoulder was still stiff from her fall, and her stomach twisted painfully, like someone was wringing out her insides.

She groaned, shifting slightly in the hammock when she felt a warm dampness between her legs. Molly froze.

She cursed under her breath, suddenly feeling wide awake. She ran through the days, counting them off in her head. How long was it since they had set sail? They couldn't have been sailing for more than a week. She looked down.

Blood stained the fabric of her hammock.

"Oh, that's just bloody perfect," she hissed, lying back down. For a moment she stayed there, hoping that the ship would spontaneously sink, or that she would just dissolve into nothingness. When nothing of the sort happened she took a deep breath and tried to think of a solution.

She glanced around the forecastle. It was still dark, the lanterns having been snuffed out by the night watch. The crew was still fast asleep, the dim outlines of their hammocks swinging gently in the rocking motion of the ship. Slowly, as carefully as she dared, Molly dropped down from her hammock.

From the across the ship Doyle let out a rattling snore and turned over in his sleep, making Molly freeze.

Beside her, Fitz stirred.

"Morgan?" He mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. He squinted at her from the bottom hammock, "What are you-," He sat up, catching sight of the stain on hammock above him. His face paled and his eyes widened, looking back to her, "You're bleeding?"

Molly shushed him, looking at the rest of the crew. None of them so much as twitched. She sighed in relief.

"Yes." she whispered, crouching beside her knapsack and rifling through it, "I do it quite often, y' know, bein' a _woman_ and all."

He nodded dumbly, mouthing the word 'woman' like she had just told him she was a sea monster. Molly rolled her eyes.

"I need somethin' t'stanch the bleeding," she said, examining her dirty hand wraps before shaking her head and tossing them back into her bag.

"What do y' normally do when y'," he winced, looking a bit green, "bleed?"

"I 'ave a rag that I used when I 'ad to work," she mumbled, "M' mum taught both us girls to keep ourselves clean durin' our time. We couldn't afford t'take the time off. " She spared him a pointed look, "Somehow I don' think the Cap'n will be so inclined t'lend me the time."

He blanched at her, "If y' knew this was goin' t'happen then why didn't y' bring it with y'?"

"Because I obviously didn't think this through," she hissed tuning back to her knapsack. Fitz bit the inside of his cheek before scrambling out of his hammock and opening his trunk

"I've got an extra pair if y' need 'em." He said quickly. He pulled out a relatively clean pair of trousers and held them out to her. She paused, her eyes widening. Fitz wasn't a very large man, but he was almost twice her size and stood well over a foot taller than most of the crew. His pants were almost as long as she was, crouching towards the back of the forecastle. Fitz followed her gaze and snorted, dropping the pants back into his trunk.

"Right, sorry," he grunted. "Never mind."

"No, they're perfect," she snatched the trousers from the trunk and pulled out her knife, cutting it into strips. Fitz made a strangled noise but she ignored him. She took two strips, shoving the rest into her knapsack, and stood up, her hands moving to take off her pants, "Turn around."

"What?" Fitz eyed her warily.

Molly's fingers paused on the laced and she made a face at him, " _Don't look_."

Fitz frowned but turned his back to her and she retreated to the far corner of the forecastle and pulled her pants down to her knees. Thankfully she wouldn't have to worry about cleaning them just yet. The stain wasn't visible through the dark blue fabric and all she had to do was wipe up the blood on her thighs and wrap the strip of fabric between her legs and tie it off like a sling.

She was going to have to wash the strips regularly or they would start to smell. Fitz was bound to tell the rest of the crew about this, but it was one thing for them to know that she was bleeding and another for them to be able to smell it on her. It was the last thing she needed, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

"Listen, Morg- MacTully," Fitz whispered, stuttering over her name. Molly yanked her pants up and whipped around, her heart jumped to her throat but she relaxed when she realized that he was still facing away from her.

"About last night," he continued, in hushed tones, "I'm sorry 'bout what I said. We- we still see you as one of the crew. You were- you're still one of us. It's just a lot to take in, you know? You being a woman and all," he breathed a small laugh, repeating back what she had said earlier, "Most of us remember you from the docks in Port Royal. I sailed with your father when I was fifteen." Fitz cleared his throat, "He's a good man and a good sailor. He'd be right proud o' y'."

Something warm swelled in her chest at the mention of her father and, to her surprise, tears stung at her eyes. She wondered, not for the first time, if he really would approve of what she was doing here and it wasn't just her exaggerated recollection of him that told her it was the right thing to do. Molly swallowed down the lump in her throat and finished lacing up her pants.

"Thanks, Fitz." She rasped, spinning on her heel and striding out onto the deck to join the morning rotation.

…

After her outburst in the galley and the incident with Fitz in the forecastle, the crew had slowly begun to warm up to her again. They were still walking on eggshells around her, earning their sea legs in a sense, skirting around the dirty jokes and curbing their language when she was present. She put a stop to that just as slowly, but it was still progress. They no longer exiled her to the steps in the galley. She had rejoined them and it felt like sailing out the storm and back to calmer waters.

Molly continued to bleed for five more days after the storm, washing the bloody rags in the bucket old deck water before it was thrown over the side and changing them behind a curtain that Fitz had erected for her in the back corner of the forecastle.

Her stomach continued to give her trouble, twisting and cramping while she worked on the ship, but she was forced to muscle through it. True to the Captain's orders, the Lieutenants gave her no quarter and Molly worked just as hard as hard as she had been before the storm. It was on the third day after the storm that she truly captured his attention.

"They're watching you again," Fitz grunted, holding a fraying rigging rope steady as Molly back spliced it with her knife- unlaying the fibers and weaving them back in on themselves to keeping it from snapping.

Molly squinted up at the quarter deck where the Commodore and the Captain stood over them, stoic figureheads side by side. They scanned the deck, watching the sailors and every once in a while their eyes would sweep over her and watch what she was doing before moving back out onto the deck.

There was not a single trace of the sailor she had seen in the storm in the Commodore's face, and Molly wasn't quite sure how she felt about it. As relived as she was at the return of the familiar, collected Commodore Norrington she couldn't help but feel a sense of loss at the sailor's departure. However brief his appearance was, it made her see a side of the man that she had never even considered existed. No matter how many times she caught his eye his expression never wavered, and it was disconcerting to know that the sailor she had seen in his office lay just behind them, hidden by propriety and status.

The Captain's face, however, was much harder for her to read.

"They're waitin'," he said. Molly frowned at him.

"Waitin' f'r what?"

Fitz looked down at her, his eyes dark and his expression serious, "You."

Molly frowned, but before she could ask to stop being so bloody cryptic, the Captain shouted an order from the quarter deck to and the lieutenants shouted it out to the crew.

"Raise the top-gallants!" Lieutenant Gillette cried from the main deck. The rigging men shouted the affirmation and moved to carry it out immediately, handing off their jobs to someone nearby.

Fitz looked down at her, "Y' done, MacTully?"

Molly nodded, tying the rope down quickly as he hurried to carry out the order. She watched them all for a moment, silhouetted against a cornflower blue sky, climbing up the ropes like spiders in a web. Doyle and Talbert reached the main gallant mast above her before Fitz and started to work on unfurling it.

' _The sails of a ship are her wings,'_ Molly's father had once told her _, 'they carry her across the water on the winds. They may look light and weightless,'_ her father had warned her _, 'but a ship's sails are heavy and strong. When they catch the wind the sound is enough to make you go deaf and the force is enough to fling a full grown man clear off the ship and into the depths.'_

Fitz had made it halfway up the rigging when Molly realized that Doyle and Talbert were moving too fast. Doyle had already untied the sail from the left spar, and it fluttered weakly in the wind. If they kept going sail would unfurl before Fitz ever made it to the spar.

' _It takes three men to unfurl a sail from the spar. There's a rope that runs along the spar that is tied to the sail. When it unfurls that rope goes taught real quick.'_ She could almost see her father, tightening his hands into fists and jerking his wrists in demonstration as she had sat at his feet, spell bound on the floor of the Prancing Pony. _'If they're not careful, when that rope tightens it can rip a man clean in half. It's the job of the third man to pull the rope off of the spar so that the men don't get tangled and pull the mast down along with them.'_

Molly launched herself up onto the rat lines and screamed Talbert's name just as the Dauntless broke on the crest of a wave. Her voice was lost in the sound of the water crashing against the hull and neither of the men on the spar looked up from the sail. Molly swore, scanning the deck frantically for a way up to them.

Across the deck, Jim and Robert were wrestling with the stays that stabilized the main mast, arguing back and forth over the turnbuckle. She looked over at the rigging. Fitz was hardly half way passed the trestle-tree of the main mast and Talbert had untied another rope on the top-gallant.

Without thinking, Molly sprinted across the deck and shoved her way in between them. Jim and Robert stopped their argument and looked at her in surprise.

"Sorry, boys," Molly panted, heart pounding. She tightening the hand wraps on her free hand with her teeth and grabbed the last stay rope.

"What are you doing?" Jim shouted, his eye bulging out of his skull at the sight of her knife.

"Hey, you can't just-," Robert started, but Molly had already brought the edge of her knife down just above the turnbuckle. The rope snapped with an ear splitting crack flung her up into the air.

The wind roared in her ears, drowning out the shouts of shock from the crew, as she flew passed Fitz and the main sail and up into the top-sail shrouds. She let go mid-air, letting the rope arch around the mast and whip out wildly, and fell into the rat lines. The ropes bounced as she landed and Molly used the momentum to scramble up the rigging and swing herself up onto the foot ropes.

She reached up onto the spar and grabbed the top-gallant rope, hooking her feet into the foot ropes and using her entire body as leverage to pull it away from the spar just as Talbert untied the last rope and the sail unfurled with a thundering roar.

The entire ship surged forward, groaning under the strain, as the sail caught the wind. Doyle and Talbert stared at her, wide eyed and slack jawed, as she eased the rope back against the spar and balanced on the foot ropes.

"Still think a ship's no place f'r a woman, Talbert?" She shouted over the wind.

Talbert opened his mouth to reply, but a shout from the crow's nest made him stop.

"Smoke! Smoke to the west!"

The three of them looked out over the water. A plume of dark smoke billowed up on the horizon, and a small island materialized to the west.

* * *

 **Reviews are like rum and USB cables.**


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